How Our Village Ended

[castleman]

Prologue

Decided to write a bit of a “Green Apocalyptic World” and a bit of a short introductory tale. This warbling nonsense is brought to you by “I might Kindle this if good enough or use it in other parts of the world I am building”.

Title also subject to change, but seems quite nice.

Chapter 1, part 1

It took under a month for the World to end.

It began in a city, the dense composition of human beings being the eternally perfect breeding ground for such a disease. Nobody knows exactly how, but the huge movements of people that had been happening in the years prior across the world probably didn’t help.

It’s how the Black Plague spread last time after all, but then, if we don’t remember history then will we ever learn? I suppose the powers that be thought all our medical technologies would save us, somehow.

The Blue Plague is what we called it. The symptoms became well known to all of us that lived through it. It effectively blocked the blood’s ability to bring in oxygen and take away carbon dioxide. The symptoms of oxygen deprivation were the first outward signs that someone was infected, the plague would basically see someone suffocate from lack of oxygen, put to sleep to not wake up again. In many ways it was like carbon monoxide poisoning.

A seemingly peaceful way to go.

After the plague burned itself out, no longer finding any more hosts after devouring the populations of cities and large towns those of us left started to rebuild.

Well. I say “we” but it was more a group that appeared during the final days of the collapse of civilisation. A group of families who took occupancy in the ruined castle of Tutbury a few miles away. It seemed some of them came prepared for the end of the world, they had a game plan and when the rest of us were staring at the shattered remains of all we’d known they gave us a route forward. Gave us purpose in a seemingly purposeless world.

Janice and I were not locals, we’d drifted in with our minibus and our belongings a few months after everything had gone. We’d tried living in various places but never really found the right fit. The Emergency Administrations always felt off and they always tried to take stuff from you for “the national interest”. When we came to Tutbury the people there did the opposite.

Instead they converted it to a wood gasification vehicle for us so we could carry on if we wanted but offered us a large home in a village they were boosting the population of as the fields nearby were good. We chose to stay, and as we were one of the few vehicles now on the road we began to run letters, goods and produce.

We became the community mail service, and I and Janice make our rounds to the various villages and small towns that make up the communities that take Tutbury’s lead.

After a few years, we felt secure again. Food was decent, the communities were coming together to sort out any issues and we’d even revived electrical power and a canning line to keep our food safe.
But then, one harvest, it all changed and we realised how dangerous the world still was...

================================

The van rumbled along the increasingly potholed road, its white paint fading fast and the few places the bodywork had been dinged, by gunfire or by hitting makeshift barricades had been patched with filler and never painted over, giving it an almost mottled and textured look.

Janice scooped another handful of wood chips into the little shovel they’d been given made out of a can of spray paint long since used up. She dug it deep and rooted it around a little to pack the chips in before opening the little window on the upper part of the gasifier and dumped it in.

She’d taken her sweater off a little earlier in the run as the insides soon heated up even with the open window, her dirty blonde hair had become stuck in places due to her sweating. The van rocked and sent a parcel near to her, so she idly pushed it away again with a practised move that spoke of experience. The pots and cauldrons hanging from hooks above clanged loudly together.

“Hole’s gettin worse!” The man in front called back idly. He was a bear of a man, bald and with an almost eternally cheeky grin on his face. “I’ll let them know.”

Greg said that every time they made the short trip along the lane between the “town” of Tutbury and Hatton and the small, all brick and old village of Sudbury. Every time, he’d forget.

Greg slowed the van down a little as he made a couple of turns, swinging out wide into the middle of the road despite the fact the hedges either side had been neatly trimmed back. One person was still there, a pair of shears in their hand as another was stooped below gathering the cuttings.

Greg gave a quick beep on the van’s horn as they clattered by and the people both stood and waved with a smile. Once they’d hit the village their stop wasn’t very far.

The Post Office and it’s adjacent building had both been built at the same time as the rest of the village. During the late 17th Century George Vernon had ordered the whole village rebuilt to reflect the stately home he was building in the same place in order to make it all look harmonized and perfected. Indeed, even the end of the world had not dampened the village’s charm and it’s older buildings meant it was a prime place for settlement, with fireplaces and chimneys at the ready for a fire to be built.

The Post Office itself still fulfilled its same function since Greg and Janice had arrived two years prior, the building itself was utterly charming in the way that few modern buildings were. Red brick with large lower windows and beautiful small upper windows with sweeping arched brickwork above them, the one above the Post Office Proper bore the GV of the man who’d ordered the village rebuilt into the beautiful Restoration, or Carolean style, of the period.

Greg swung the van into the driveway that once lead to a car park and yanked hard on the hand brake with a creak, he then killed the engine and Janice opened the valve which vented the smoke straight upwards instead of towards the engine. She already had a half dozen parcels in her hands by the time the door opened and Greg helped her down before climbing bodily into the back. Its suspension squeaked and rocked as he did so, and the cast iron pots and cauldrons clattered louder still as he began lifting them down from the hooks.

A crowd of mostly women and children had already begun to gather as the arrival of the van, one of the few internal combustion vehicles still running, certainly caused a ruckus whenever it arrived.

Instead, the much more normal sound of horses hooves and clattering iron shod wheels had already become a more common sound to warn people of approaching vehicles. A pair of horses hauled a cart piled high with muddy sugar beets, they would be chopped and processed into white sugar, while the remaining pulp would be pressed and sent off as feed for the livestock kept elsewhere. It was their turn this year to grow this crop as each farm was assigned a particular crop for the year on a rotational basis, with Tutbury and Hatton rapidly becoming a central processing site within the repurposed coffee factory being converted to can and jar foodstuffs instead of just freeze drying coffee.

It was a strange luxury to have, canned foods, but the principles were very basic, and the water-wheel powered cannery required very few people to operate it, from what they understood anyway.

Greg nearly tripped over such a box of cans, it was a rough wooden affair stacked high with the very basic labels denoting what was in them. Labelled by hand, they were inconsistent but the important thing was, the food was definitely safe.

“Careful you lummox.” Janice called back to him when he muttered some choice words at the box.

“Box snuck up on me I tell yer.” Greg called back with a chuckle. He crouched down and picked up the box in one hand, tucking the smaller pots into the larger cauldron with another loud clatter.

Janice had already made it up the steep steps of the Post Office and propped open the green door with a chunk of uncut firewood, she was pulling open the blinds of the large windows to let in as much sunlight as possible. The Post Office doubled up as the shop for the village too, covering what meagre products it had on offer such as food, tools and leather products such as shoes. It also had typed advertisements for work, and offers for work written in Janice’s neat handwriting on a little cork notice board.

It wasn’t much, but it was theirs and left to be run as they saw fit by the people who everyone seemed to deem as “in charge” of the collection of villages.

Greg set the crate of canned goods down on one of the counters with a thud and almost immediately Janice whisked the cans away and put them on a shelf higher up so they could be seen. Most were scrawled with “Beef and Potatoes” but a couple, for a change, said “Chicken and Potatoes”.

Such variety. Greg mused to himself, but he knew how fortunate they were to have food they could store safely. He remembered other places where they were still trying to pick out of supermarkets a full couple of years after everything had collapsed. Canned goods were fine, but anything else was usually a rotting mess that stank so badly it made you feel physically sick.

“Keep the big cauldron down, Mrs Kinston said she’d be round for that, hang up the rest.” Janice said without turning from the parcels she was sorting. Most people would come round here on the way to the pub.

There was a rap on the door frame as an old man, his hair silver and grey wearing wollen trousers and a linen shirt. “Ey up there Mr Darnell, Mrs Darnell, those two barrels in there mine?”

“Picked them up for you, apparently they’ve already settled for a day before we picked them up, but the brewery chap said wait another couple of days before serving.” Greg said as he tilted his head back a little as he recalled what the brewer had said, he tapped one of the cast iron pots in his big, meaty hand as he did so. “Should be good for the harvest festival.”

“Thank goodness, harvet’s looking good from what Giles was saying.” The silver haired man said. “Anyway, another six pints for you and your lovely lady wife as payment for the rapid transport, right?” The silver haired man looked over to Janice who hastily put a large, finely made wooden box down below the counter. It bore a large, carved double capital T on it.

“Fred, you saw nothing, it’s the big surprise for the festival, got it?” Janice said, eyeing up the older man.

“Is it what I thought it was though?” Fred said as he stared at the counter, his eyes hoping to develop x-ray vision. “I mean, I’d heard rumours…”

“Might be, how many pints is it worth ruining the surprise?” Greg asked as he hung the final pot up on the last fiddly hook and turned, hands on his hips.

“Don’t you dare.” Janice shot him a look that could kill.

“Oh go on, I swear I won’t tell anyone…” Fred said as he moved towards the counter. “I’d heard the castle folks had taken a couple of fields and walled them off to grow something special, most thought it was for weed oil…far more valuable crop if true you know.”

“Take your bloody barrels and get going.” Janice said pointing a letter opener at him and fake jabbing it towards him with a slight grin. “You can find out at the festival, same as everyone else.”

Fred laughed and mock bowed before leaving the shop, a moment later they could hear him straining slightly as he lifted the wooden barrels out of the back of the minibus.

“You know he’s still going to spread it around the village tonight, once he opens.” Greg said shaking his head and leaning against the counter.

Janice sighed and lifted the box back up, opening it. “I know, but it’d be such a nice surprise for everyone, wouldn’t it?” She lifted the small, sealed bag of linen out of the box and sniffed it deeply. “It’s going to be so nice to have a cup of tea again.”

Inside the wooden box it was packed with such small bags of carefully plucked and dried tea, all sealed in small bags of linen.

[NCWEBNUT]

Great start, thanks for the new story

[texican]

C,

The world has need and is recovering, sort of....

Now where are the bad guys?

Thanks for the chapter....

Texican....

[castleman]

Nov 28, 2019 15:11:45 GMT -6 texican said:

C,

The world has need and is recovering, sort of....

Now where are the bad guys?

Thanks for the chapter....

Texican....

Give it time, I'm sure there's some sort of thing that's going to happen.

I mean it's still a dangerous world supposedly... wonder how?

[texican]

Nov 28, 2019 15:25:08 GMT -6 castleman said:

Nov 28, 2019 15:11:45 GMT -6 texican said:

C,

The world has need and is recovering, sort of....

Now where are the bad guys?

Thanks for the chapter....

Texican....

Give it time, I'm sure there's some sort of thing that's going to happen.

I mean it's still a dangerous world supposedly... wonder how?

C,

A couple Moar Chapters will provide the answers....

Texican....

[castleman]

Chapter 1, Part 2

The horse drawn wagons continued to rattle back and forth past the post office to the farm at the very end of the village as the light of the long day began to slowly fade. As the sun finally began to set the final horse and cart, heavily laden rolled slowly past the Post Office, it was fit to bursting, even compared to the earlier carts and four horses pulled and strained at this one, with the four wheeled wagon itself creaking and groaning a little as it did so. However, the two dozen or so farmers followed it along, cheerily loudly. This drew people from their homes despite the twilight to more cheers and whooping.

Greg and Janice quickly shut their green door and stood on top of the steep steps to join in waving and cheering. The horses manes had been dressed up with wild flowers and looked beautifully groomed, even as they struggled and the first mists of their hot breath began to drift from their noses with a snort.

“Guess this means it’s pub o’clock then.” Greg said with a smile as he skipped down the steps. “Come on, if we go now we can get our orders in before they finish unloading.”

Janice shook her head and followed him down the steps and along the footpathless road down the street.

The Vernon Arms was somehow even more charming than the rest of the village. The building was in the same style as the others, but was more akin to a tiny stately home in its own right. Built in a square, the rearmost part of the square had once been stables, later converted into rooms and then back into stables during the takeover by the Tutbury Communities.

This meant that now the paved square inside the buildings had to be kept clear in order for horses and carts and even the occasional carriage to be tended to. However, during the Harvest celebrations, these would become filled with benches and tables from all over. Most of which were cobbled together from scaffolding boards.

Ducking under the low door, Greg smiled at Fred behind the bar who continued cleaning the pint glass before putting it onto the bar. He immediately whisked another clean one from a compartment somewhere on the bar and stuck it under one of the beer engines. Suction pumps which drew the beer from the barrel to the glass. He pulled steadily and with the expert movements of a man who had done this most of his working life.

With the current issue of water treatment being unavailable for most, small beer, that is beer of a low alcoholic content, had become commonplace for people to drink once again. The low level of alcohol meant that it was the drink of choice, from child to the elderly. The extra health benefits such as vitamins and other minerals beer provided meant that drinking it was being actively encouraged for the health benefits.

Old world beers were far stronger than the stuff Fred normally served these days. The only exception to that was the celebratory barrels of porter he’d picked up from Greg and Janice earlier that day, and were now settled into the cellar, ready for when the formal celebrations of the Harvest Festival began that weekend.

Today was the last cartload into the farm’s storage barn. Tomorrow Tutbury would send out a road train to haul away the sugar beets for processing, and then all weekend would be a feast and party. People had been speculating all week what the likely feast foods would be for each farming village under Tutbury’s guidance. There’d been some robust debates in the Vernon Arms over whether it would be a brace of chickens, a pig for slow roasting or even, some were very hopeful, a full cow.

“We’ll have two Ploughman’s too please mate.” Greg said as he picked up the glasses from the bar of the pale ale and headed to where Janice had sat down in what had become their usual table in the evenings.

Fred nodded and headed into the back where crockery began to clatter and clink.

Before long, Fred returned, dropping the two plates off with Greg and Janice with theatrical aplomb.

The Ploughman’s was the most traditional of english country meals and due to the relative ease of making it in the post-blue plague world it had become a common staple once again. A thick chunk of baked bread that had been buttered, a thick wedge of cheese and shredded onion underneath it and a small pile of pickle.

The Vernon’s was a little luxurious compared to most as a very small slice of ham often came with it. Today however, the slice was quite sizable as Fred was expecting to be resupplied by the road train tomorrow.

“For getting those extra barrels for me. I got a feeling I’ll be drunk dry by the end of the festival.” He winked before rushing back as the first group of farm labourers spilled in still cheering and clapping each other on the back of a job well done.

Greg and Janice would lift their glasses in toast as more and more spilled in and almost as quickly spilled back outside. They were all a little ripe and they knew it. Thankfully the Tutbury folk had thought of that too, and had encouraged public bath houses, which a bay of the stables at the Vernon had been converted into.

Even though they’d only been working the fields, they did smell. The door opened to the outside and the laughing and splashing already told that a number of them had taken advantage of the hot communal bath.

Yet another thing the families in the castle had encouraged in each village. Janice thought on that often, at how many little things that would’ve not occurred to the average person was being pushed quietly, but firmly, by the people in the Castle. They’d turned call centre workers into farmers and retail workers into wheelwrights in the space of a few short years.

People who didn’t fit in those roles were encouraged to find new jobs. One I.T worker had become a hunter based in nearby woodland and had taken to the new role with surprising skill, often bringing deer, rabbit and pheasant every few days for the butcher to deal with.

Or others, as the man, wearing a deer fur cloak entered with a smile and slapped down a pheasant on the bar alongside a stoneware jug that was empty, both were instantly whisked away by Fred into the back.

The former I.T worker had grown a long beard flecked with the first signs of greying hair and waved to Janice and Greg before walking over. “Need a favour tomorrow, could do with a lift to the Castle proper, got a fair brace of Pheasants to trade and I know the Castle folk love game pie. Could do with a spare bow or two, know they’ve got them.” He took a long drink from his pint. “After the road train? Going to be chaos otherwise, won’t it?”

Greg shrugged. “Sure, I can do another run. Should’ve been in this morning though, we just did a delivery circuit, could’ve dropped you off and picked you up on the way back.”

The hunter scratched his beard. “Sod’s law, innit?” He turned to head back to the bar.

“Oh, Keith? Keith!” Greg called to the hunter.

“Wassup?” Keith said spinning around.

“A pheasant for the run though.” Greg waved a chunk of his cheese.

Keith narrowed his eyes a little. “Two wood pigeon.”

“Three.”

“Done.”

Keith and Greg nodded mutually, and the hunter headed back to the bar where his stone jug sloshed as it was put down.

Greg grinned to Janice. “That’s some meat sorted then.”

“We already had the canned meat.” Janice shot back with a sigh.

“Ah but fresh wood pigeon…” Greg replied as he bit into his hunk of bread.

==============

The morning air was broken by the shrieking of a steam whistle, high pitched and wailing.

Greg awoke with a snorting start and got up so quickly he banged his head into the low cieling of their bedroom.

“Oh you absolute c-” The rest of his profanity was drowned out by a second, shrill screaming of the whistle.

People were already rushing out of their homes and hastily pulling on their clothes for the day, one man was even hopping his way down the street pulling on his left boot and nearly fell over, leaning against the wall briefly to pull it on fully.

The whole village was turning out quickly for the spectacle of the road train.

Greg and Janice arrived onto the street with the rest of the crowd arranged right at the turning into the farmyard where the sugar beets had all been stored ready.

The road train had once been a common sight on Britain’s roads. Many councils and other authorities had used traction engines and steam road rollers in this manner to have a mobile mechanical power plant along with wagons carrying all that was needed. While there were some trucks still available, many had been turned to wood gas, but once again the people in the Castle were trying to eye the long term, and one of the nearby villages just so happened to have a small collection of these vehicles, and those along with the family of the owner, had come along to the castle during the final days.

If you can maintain one, you can also build one, and a couple of such vehicles had been slowly built as the scrap metal came in from various nearby warehouses and distribution centres that had been scavenged. One even carried passengers around Tutbury, Hatton and Hilton and made occasional forays to Sudbury, but unlike those other places Sudbury only became really important around harvest time.

The engine rounded the corner, clattering and chuffing loudly the pistons ontop of the boiler worked frantically as the train made up of a half dozen carts and a living van, a forerunner to the caravan rounded the corner.

The engine gave one final shrill whistle before turning slowly into the farmyard, sending a few of the chickens that were resident there scattering with panicked clucking.

The living van disgorged nearly a half dozen men and another half dozen jumped down from the wagons, shaking hands with folks as they came near.

Festivity was in the air after all, the harvest festival had taken on such a huge importance for everyone in the years since convenience food and just in time deliveries had vanished from the world.

The whole village and the extra pairs of hands all joined in transferring the sugar beets into the various carts, piling them high to the point horses would never move them wasn’t a problem for the traction engine, as it had enough power to get it back home.
The driver stretched himself out a little and smiled watching the work. His ice blue eyes took in the people moving quickly while laughing and joking. A small white scar ran from his eyebrow and down his cheek he folded his arms comfortably, olive skin toughened by the sunlight. He ran a hand through his chestnut brown hair and sighed contently. It seemed the figure was pleased with what he was seeing.

Another figure soon joined him from the living van, carrying a leather bound ledger, his own bright blue eyes darted back and forth to the pile in the barn and the road train. His features were rounder than the drivers and no scar on his face. His hair was obscured by a battered and stained black bowler hat and his hands were stained with ink from a refillable biro he’d obviously overfilled from the way it leaked into the space between his thumb and forefinger as he rapidly made notes in the book.

“Duke?” The bowler hat man said to the quiet one. “It looks like there’s a surplus, we’ll have to use the living van to take it all back and I’ll have to find space for it all. Crops this year have been really good…” he shook his head in disbelief. “With this lot post processing and the turnip crop this year we’ll be able to keep the livestock herds going without the need for winter slaughter.”

The man named Duke nodded quietly and turned to talk to the bowler hatted man only for the safety valves on the traction engine to lift and drown out what was said.

“Good point. I’ll see if I can get back to Tutbury before you and sort that out too. We should have the space at the Castle if nowhere else.”

The hatted man looked around and spotted Greg helping with the sugar beets. “Ah, Master Darnell sir! I require your services!”

While the bowler hatted man had a name, most had taken to simply calling him the Bookkeeper behind his back and ‘Master Thompson’ to his face. The man who always seemed to make the plans happen, and Greg had seen that look in his eyes before, it was the plan look that usually meant everything else had to be dropped. He’d worked like a demon more than once, usually with the man they called Duke, the leader of the Castle families right there next to him, ensuring everything was done right and to lift the spirits of those around who struggled to keep up with the bookkeepers manic work ethic.

Thomspon leant in a little so as not to be overheard. “I’ll pay you a small box of tea for your own personal use if you get me back to the castle poste-haste!”

“I have a passenger booked already, let me find him and we’ll go as soon as it’s warmed up.” Greg agreed instantly. Him and Janice had been taking turns smelling the bags since they’d been brought back the day before and tomorrow was when they’d show it off and begin brewing cups for everyone.

15 minutes later, Greg, Thompson, Keith and a brace of Pheasants hanging limp from one of the hooks in the van’s roof space trundled off down the country lanes.

[texican]

cm,

Intrigue in the english villages....

What is up?

Another chapter will or won't reveal?

Texican....

[castleman]

Chapter 1, Part 3

Tutbury and Hatton had been sort of twinned villages before everything collapsed. They had been on either side of the River Dove, which wound its way quickly between the two areas. Each side had been in a different county before the Blue Plague but today they had merged somewhat. It was one of the few places where both still boasted their pre-plague population levels and most of the more modern houses had been roughly converted with more ramshackle looking “new” chimneys bolted to the side of homes which had previously only had central heating. Every garden had been turned over to a vegetable patch or chicken coop to help boost at home food production.

Across the river, rising up its large hill was Tutbury. A village with much older homes and buildings along with a smattering of new development was the other half of this emerging township. There had already been an active allotment club in Tutbury before the collapse and as the gardens in Tutbury were much smaller, a couple of fields by the river had been turned over to further communal allotments to do the same. Rising above them all was the castle at Tutbury, ruined during the English Civil War of the 17th century the castle had lain in ruins for many centuries. The Families which had arrived were slowly rebuilding and restoring the castle, no small feat considering how long it had lain partly destroyed.


Tutbury was also home to The Factory. The old coffee factory in Hatton had long since been cannibalized by the communities, using the large amounts of steel and now useless machinery repurposed to other means such as plows, pots, pans and more suitable machinery for the world in which electricity was hard to make. Instead, production had moved across the river, where there had once stood a plaster factory, once demolished and turned into a common park now a huge, sprawling complex of wooden buildings had swallowed up the whole area once again.

The castle families had decided they needed a useful spot close as possible to the river to draw from and thanks to the previous mill fleam there was plenty of places to run water wheels. Wood had been the easiest building material to get their hands on and so the multitude of wooden cabins had appeared over one winter when the crops had been brought in.

The van puttered past the factory area where a covered dray cart pulled out, causing Greg to tap the brakes.

“This will do, thanks!” Thompson said as he simply jumped out and slammed the door shut.

“You’re welcome I guess?” Greg muttered to the shut door as the Bookkeeper ran off into the maze of creosoted wooden buildings, waving over some workers in boiler suits and beginning to snap orders to them with some urgency.

“Odd fellow, isn’t he?” Said Keith as he leant forward. “But, can’t complain about what they do.”

Greg sighed and began driving the van slowly up the long back road, away from the High Street. It was easier to take this road as the main street was usually filled on one side with market stalls and people most days.

This road was also important to Tutbury but was typically less packed out. The Village Hall, “hospital” (just the old doctor’s surgery expanded with more rough wooden buildings in the car parks) and Library were all along this road, making it somewhat the civic centre of the town.

The van spluttered a little bit and Keith quickly shoved more woodchips into the burner for Greg as it struggled with the steadily rising hill. Turning right, then right again, saw them rise up an even steeper hill and narrow track that lead towards the Castle.

The van came to a stop before the John of Gaunt gatehouse, where the doors were shut and a single Castleman stood outside, he wore a heavy looking woolen tunic with linens beneath, slung to his back was a crossbow with a small quiver of bolts to one side, and in his hand held comfortably was a spear.

It had been a while since there’d been a bandit raid, but they’d always happened around the time of the harvest as the starving and desperate had sought food time and again. These had later evolved into people taking what they wanted rather than needed before finally dying down almost to nothing.

Despite that, the Castlemen still stayed armed, and would patrol during the harvest on horseback around the further out farms and villages.

The spearman raised a hand in a friendly greeting as Keith stepped out of the van, holding a dozen pheasants on hooks. Slinging them over his shoulder he trotted up to the gateman and chatted for a bit, the spearman nodded and opened the smaller gate for a person to walk through, Keith disappeared through the gap.

Greg tapped on the steering wheel and began to whistle as he waited. He turned and leant over to awkwardly scoop up some more chips and throw them into the burner ready for the return trip. The spearman looked a little bored and had leant against his spear to rest his feet a little.

Half an hour passed before the gate was reopened by Keith. He was carrying a new longbow and a wrapped linen sack. In his mouth was a small pie.

Greg opened the door for him and as Keith put the sack and bow down, stuck his hand in and offered Greg a small pie.

He bit into the thick pastry and tasted the game meat of pheasant, squirrel and jelly. He nodded to Keith in thanks.

As they ate their impromptu lunch they looked out from their vantage point high above the village. The trees which had grown on the hillside and around the former car park and display areas had been aggressively removed, with most of the timbers going into the factory complex below them. What was left over was used as charcoal in the furnace that sat on the far edge of the factory area right next to the river, and to the far left of the village as they looked northwards.

“It’s funny, y’know.” Keith said through a mouth full of pie.

“Hmm?” Greg replied with a glance.

“I used to be stuck either in an office, or in my own home eating take out meals or ready meals I’d grabbed from the corner shop on my way home. Never thought I’d be a trapper and hunter.”

“End of the world does funny things.” Greg scratched his chin. “Know what I was before the plague?”

“Bouncer?”

Greg chuckled. “No, I was a brand manager of all things, brought the rights to distribute obscure south american brands and bring them to the market here. Had a little side business doing the drinks for weddings and other celebrations. So you can imagine how useful those skills were when everything went tits up.”

“Hey, I did websites and computer repair on the side. The latter could still work maybe but I don’t think the castle families are using many of those, we all changed careers I think. Never would’ve imagined myself dealing furs and meat I’d hunted myself.”

“Just helps we’re quick and able to move about thanks to the gasifier.” Greg patted the warm burner with a smile. “We scavenged diesel and used cooking oil on our trip south. Nearly clogged the engine doing that one.”

“How bad is it out there? I mean things are harsh here, but we’ve got food, food preservation too. Castle folks seem to always have a plan and I for one am glad to go along with it.” Keith popped the last of his game pie in his mouth and chewed, brushing a few crumbs from his beard.

“Well, couple of years ago when Janice and I travelled south there were still bits of civic government. Word of advice if you ever travel? Avoid anything calling itself emergency administrations. Those places are just awful.”

Keith was still chewing, so just shot Greg an inquisitive look.

“Bureaucrats running everything, bunch of extra ‘police’ officers who are anything but, farms worked mostly by hand because they used up all their fuel. Anything looking like it’s word became something they’d desperately want to try using it up, they’d have run this van into the ground.” He gestured to the castle with the remaining bite of his pie. “I was worried this would happen again with the castle lot. Seen some bandit kings in our trip south, but no. These guys bothered fixing up the van and converting it to something I’d never heard of. I mean who’d run a diesel engine on fuel chips?” Greg popped the last bit into his mouth and put the minibus into reverse. “Bloody marvellous it is. Could go anywhere but we stayed instead.”

He gunned the engine a little as Keth shoved another shovel of chips into the burner and slammed the lid shut, most of their trip would be downhill till they hit the river anyway so they’d need very little power.

As they passed by the Factory Complex again, they were flagged down by one of the factory workers. He walked up to the minibus and tapped the window which Greg wound down.

“Bookie forgot to give you your reward for transporting him back, you know what he’s like. Told me to throw in this extra barrel of beer for Sudbury too, heard you’ve brought in a bumper crop this year.”

Keith jumped out of the back doors of the minibus and loaded the small box and larger barrel with a grunt. The factory worker slammed the doors shut and waved them off as he headed back into the complex. Workers seemed to be running around, moving crates of tins, barrels of beer on chinese style wheel barrows Stood on a small raised platform, book wide open was the bookkeeper, directing everything this way and that.

Greg decided he preferred his quieter life just moving goods and people about from his quiet village.

When Keith and Greg got back with the minibus to Sudbury, plastic bunting had been strung up all over ready for the weekend’s festivities.

Fred was delighted with the extra barrel of beer and Janice was so happy to have a small, personal supply of tea bags.

[bluefox2]

They appear to be moving back towards a feudal system with folks settling in around castles for protection and support. Interesting concept going here.

[texican]

Dec 3, 2019 17:25:55 GMT -6 bluefox2 said:

They appear to be moving back towards a feudal system with folks settling in around castles for protection and support. Interesting concept going here.

The brits have always been strange....

Thanks CM for the chapter....

Texican....

[castleman]

Dec 3, 2019 17:25:55 GMT -6 bluefox2 said:

They appear to be moving back towards a feudal system with folks settling in around castles for protection and support. Interesting concept going here.

Castles and prisons, both have high walls and land inside for people to live. Hopefully I'll get onto the latter either in this story or the next.

The Communities aren't quite Feudal, not yet anyway. They're mostly people who had no real plan as civic governance collapsed and the families from outside the area were the only ones with any idea what to do and who to speak with to get things more stable.

Dec 3, 2019 19:22:23 GMT -6 texican said:

Dec 3, 2019 17:25:55 GMT -6 bluefox2 said:

They appear to be moving back towards a feudal system with folks settling in around castles for protection and support. Interesting concept going here.

The brits have always been strange....

Thanks CM for the chapter....

Texican....

Of course we have, it's why we're Great.


Next bit soon, no doubt.

[texican]

Dec 4, 2019 2:15:14 GMT -6 castleman said:

Dec 3, 2019 17:25:55 GMT -6 bluefox2 said:

They appear to be moving back towards a feudal system with folks settling in around castles for protection and support. Interesting concept going here.

Castles and prisons, both have high walls and land inside for people to live. Hopefully I'll get onto the latter either in this story or the next.

The Communities aren't quite Feudal, not yet anyway. They're mostly people who had no real plan as civic governance collapsed and the families from outside the area were the only ones with any idea what to do and who to speak with to get things more stable.

Dec 3, 2019 19:22:23 GMT -6 texican said:

The brits have always been strange....

Thanks CM for the chapter....

Texican....

Of course we have, it's why we're Great.


Next bit soon, no doubt.

Now CM, you would never over exaggerate now would you?.?.?.?

Texican....

[castleman]

Chapter 2, part 1

Peddlers always came to the festivals, it was just part of the celebrations. We’d all be so drunk by the time they usually turned up people would agree ridiculous exchanges. Bartering had become so prevalent that swapping goods for other goods was pretty natural, as was driving a hard bargain and haggling, something that had long vanished from British attitude..

Of course, some people do risk their lives in the heavier urbanized areas for bartered goods. Usually they pick over warehouses and supermarkets, places there’s very little risk of potential exposure. Even today there’s probably places out there that haven’t been touched inside those cities.

But the dead stay in the cities. Perhaps its best we didn’t disturb them.

===========================

The festivities began as soon as the fires were built for the sides of beef they’d been given as a reward for an excellent harvest the next morning. Fred opened his doors early and beer was already being drunk by the time the clock was striking 10. Mostly the porter they’d been given as thanks for all their hard work.

Music also carried. Folk singing, a long dying art in britain had embers kept alive locally by small groups in pubs and now they had exploded in popularity once again. However, these were conversions of various songs that people remembered from before the plague days. A strange mixture of pop music and more traditional folk songs became the common song book for any singer to follow.

If they’d had power, they might have tried the old jukebox that Fred still had inside the Vernon’s bar area, but alas. Sudbury had yet to receive electricity and sometimes a slightly jealous eye would be cast towards Tutbury and Hatton at night, where a small pool of light mostly from The Factory could be seen. Though there was some argument over whether than was from the lighting or the furnace which burned 24/7.

Greg and Janice didn’t even bother opening the post office today, there was never any need for runs or post or anything on a harvest festival. The hectic runs they had made in the days beforehand had covered most things, with the remainder coming from the village itself.

The grassy area of the Vernon Arms had been filled with yet more benches, seats and tables, smaller fires had been lit for stewpots which littered the lawn.

Today was to be a true day of feasting, and Greg and Janice settled in to a bench near the pub door to make it easier to get more drinks. As they began to enjoy their second pint together, Mrs Kinston an elderly lady came over with a big smile and two steaming bowls of stew.

“I made a bit of a mix, beef, potato, carrots and a little bit of wood pigeon.” She smiled brightly, her alert green eyes looking to Janice and Greg as she put down the two, smooth wooden bowls with their spoons tucked deep inside. Steam rose from them slowly and Greg sniffed deep. “As thanks for the cauldron and delivering it so swiftly.”

Greg tucked into his first steaming spoonful and gasped a little at the heat breathed with his mouth open before taking a long draw from his pint glass

“Apparently the Factory has been making a lot more cauldrons, say they last pretty much forever and that they’ll take any old pots and pans from people’s kitchens in exchange for a couple.” Janice took her spoon and blew on it gently a few times before taking a bite.

“Really? I’ve got quite a few pots and pans in my house… I wouldn’t mind a smaller one when I make my own meals… getting used to stew all the time is taking a bit of adjusting, but I guess we can’t always be lucky like today.”

“No, it’ll be nice to just have a nice beef sandwich with gravy.” Greg said as he held another steaming spoonful aloft. “Not that this stew isn’t utterly delicious, Mrs Kinston.”

“I’ll make you plenty more if you could get my pots and pans exchanged.”

“Done, I can go after the festival, even The Factory has to shut sometimes.” Greg chuckled.

Mrs Kiston smiled and headed back to her cauldron which bubbled gently on a fire nearby.

“Think it’s time?” Janice asked looking around.

“Oh yeah, I reckon so.” Greg said as he finished the last of his stew and began to run one big finger around the bowl to clean the rest.

Janice lifted the box up onto the table with a thud and used the wooden spoon on the pint glass to get everyone’s attention. Fred quickly came out of the pub with a steaming metal kettle of water carrying it awkwardly with one hand, the hot handle wrapped in a cloth.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, the good people of The Castle wanted us to have this little slice of luxury they’ve worked hard on. I present... “ Janice flung open the box. “Tea bags! With real tea inside!”

Everything stopped, meals ceased to be eaten, pints stopped being drunk, the music died to a quiet as people rushed over to see the marvel of tea once again.

No doubt there were still millions, if not billions of tea bags out there in the wild of the post plague world, after all, Britain had drank a staggering 165 million of them every day, but as most were hidden away in homes, or deep inside what were now necropolises, few ventured to go find them. The one great lie that had perpetuated for centuries was that tea plants could only really be grown in the far east. In reality however, the tea plant adored the UK’s often grey and soggy climate and tea plants had become available in garden centres for personal use. It had taken years of careful gathering for the tea growing operation to begin producing enough that bags of the stuff could be sent out for people to enjoy.

There was also a note taped to the inside lid of the box that Janice and Greg had not noticed before. Janice took it and opened it.

“To the Good people of Sudbury,” she began. “Congratulations on a harvest most splendid and bountiful!” There were a few cheers. “I hope you enjoy the gift we have given you, and hope that a delegation can be sent on the Sunday afternoon to the Castle proper in order to receive further news and announcement of a move back towards further civilisation. Yours, Duke Langley.”

“Never did get why he calls himself a duke.” Fred said as he poured some water into waiting cups and Greg threw in the tea bags. “Always seemed a bit… odd.”

“Castle folks are a bit odd, aren’t they?” Greg replied with a chuckle. “Mind, he’s the families leader and in turn ours I guess. Surprised he doesn’t make himself a crown. He’s basically a king by now anyway.”

“Oh, you mean Mister Langley?” Mrs Kinston took her cup and sipped it slowly with a smile before someone offered her a bit of milk to mix into it. “Apparently he has some blue blood in him but no formal title due to him not knowing if his brother’s still about. He played a Duke in a reenactment group he was part of before the Plague. That’s where he gets the nickname from. Or so he told me anyway.”

“You actually got some words out of him? I thought he let the bookkeeper do most of the blabbing?” Fred looked to Mrs Kinston with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh no dear, he’s quite sociable, just tends to observe a lot before talking.” Mrs Kinston smiled as she smelled her cup of tea. “Served in the navy when he was younger too, only for a short while as a midshipman.”

“Blimey, he does like to be chatty doesn’t he?”

=====================

Day soon wore on into night, food and drink continued to be exchanged and people drifted in and out from nearby farmsteads and other areas, checking in on the day’s celebrations. The only commotion came about when the noise of an engine, badly maintained, clattered in from the West. It was followed close behind by a hatchback car which was kept meticulously clean and was also thumping out loud bass heavy music from its speaker system. It was covered in lights that gave it a gaudy, blue glow.

An old, battered Transit Van pulled to an unsteady stop near the grass where everyone was arranged and out leapt several young men who began to pull various items from it. All of them from before the Plague. Shampoo bottles, packets of dried food, tools.

From the car emerged a man who seemed to be in charge and he began to point and give orders, he wore casual clothing same as the rest of them.

“Put the stuff there, Bruv.” One of them said, pointing quickly to a camp table another had folded out hastily. All of them were under 30 and sported the caramel coloured skin tone of Southern Asians. Once their stand was set up, such as it was, the one who had directed things clapped his hands.

“Ok my lovely bruvs and sisters. I got the goods, you got the grub. Who wants some delightful shampoo? Salon grade, scavenged from a salon not 20 miles away? How about some rice? Bet you lot haven’t had that for years, right? Still in its plastic, so it is! I even have jars of coffee!” He waved his hands to each item as one of the others quickly raised it above their hands in a routine clearly practised. “Or how about some good, tools like an electric drill? Still with charge!” The drill was spun briefly with a quick whine before put down again. “I’ll take food warm or cold, in cans or in pastry.” He coughed, seemingly clearing his throat and took a sip of a flask he had in one pocket.

A few people began to go over, trading some goods and a few of the cans they had gotten from Greg and Janice in the days before. There was some quiet murmuring between the leader and the others when they noticed the newly printed labels on rough hemp paper and then carried on as if nothing had been amiss.

Janice frowned a little as more trades were made. It was indistinct but each of the peddler’s crew seemed to be coughing a little bit, with the leader being the most throaty in between transactions, but he was doing the most talking and the day had been long and hot in the way Indian Summers often were in the British Isles.

Fred strolled back from the van carrying some shampoo and other sundries for the bathhouse. “Better smelling than that conkers soap stuff, they keep mixing in more ash. I swear…”

Greg and Janice stayed away, they had more than enough products in their shop and at home. Greg drank deeply from his pint glass and sighed as they watched the festivities interrupted by commerce.

[NCWEBNUT]

It seems the plague may make a reappearance from the traders

[texican]

Dec 6, 2019 7:36:50 GMT -6 NCWEBNUT said:

It seems the plague may make a reappearance from the traders

As more people gather together, there is always the opportunity for sickness/disease to spread especially with lack of sewer and a good water supply....

Texican....

[CountryGuy]

Enjoyed this, any plans to continue or was it picked up in a different storyline?

[udwe]

Yes, I'd like to know if there is going to be anymore, too.