The Prospector's Lot - A Tale in the Blue Plague

[castleman]

Hello all! Decided to have another crack at my world, How Our Village Ended didn't quite pan out in the way I was hoping and I lost interest as I was pondering if the plague really should stick about. Having lived through it now with the Kung Flu keeping most of us here in Brit-land indoors, I'm going with a firm "no". So, here's a second crack of the whip. A bit more action based and a bit more about the world more generally. Unlike Village, it is set about 16 years later and takes place across quite a lot of my local area.

A solitary figure walked along the mossy strewn road and neatly parked, filth covered cars. He looked around him and walked over to a sign that had been knocked to the floor at some point. "Trent road" it read. He checked a piece of paper in one hand and looked at a cul-de-sac which shot off of the main thoroughfare. 134 Trent Road, Beeston. Had been typed, neatly, onto the paper.

The lone figure tilted their head back to enjoy the sun as it beat down on the cracked tarmac and rusting cars. A mirror glinted slightly catching the sunlight. The houses themselves stood silent, staring down with darkened windows in the cul-de-sac. Birds flitted between the bushes and trees that had overgrown a once neat and orderly world.

It was quiet, peaceful. Serene.

The figure was clad in green overalls, thick and hard wearing for the weather, it was tatty in a couple of places and patched in a few others, “Wells Auto” was embroidered on the front and it was easily two sizes too big. On his back was a huge backpack, a bergen, a paratroopers backpack sold surplus to the man many years ago.

The figure scratched his chin, a few days growth and stubble was on it and peppered with the grey of an older man. He looked back and forth at the homes in the little dead end, and began to walk slowly towards one which had a grubby, filth covered people carrier out front. The tires long gone flat, he rubbed a gloved hand over the glass and peered inside. There was the usual detrius for a family car. food wrappers, discarded magazine, even a newspaper. Tarnished brass, on the wall by the door were the numbers "134".

“Plague sweeps Britain!” Declared the paper’s faded front page. 16 years back a bioweapon had leaked from a lab in the Far East. The Blue Plague it was called in the end as its main symptom, the most obvious anyway, was blood poisoning resulting in a distinct blue skin.

It had swept the globe within weeks before people had realised thanks to its long incubation time. Before anyone knew it, the dead were piling in the streets. Tensions had risen, civic order broke down and estimates before the central government collapsed was the death rate was somewhere near 90%.

The man sniffed a little and headed over to the front door. It was once white, and stained grey from the weather and dust over a number of years. He fumbled a little and set down his large backpack before unclipping the top and fumbling around inside before pulling out a small box.

Inside was a lockpick gun and a small piece of metal. With slightly worn, gnarled hands he placed the flatter metal along the top and adjusted a small wheel on the gun itself.

Clicking it a half dozen times and pressing hard on the flatter bit of metal yielded a click and the barrel of the lock turning.

The man let out a soft grunt of satisfaction and pushed the door inwards.

The must, abandoned smell hit his nostrils, the man scratched his chin again and smelt the air a little more carefully. After a few more moments, he pulled a small folded cloth from his bag. Unlike nearly everything else he wore or owned, this was brand new. Some of the few “new” things he owned. It was a tightly woven fabric mask. He pulled it over his nose and mouth before tying the two long fabric bits behind his head.

It was moments like these he missed the convenience of plastic and rubber.

Stepping into the house he stopped to let his eyes adjust to the gloom of the interior and to place his large backpack by the doorway. It was dark due to the former occupants pulling most of the curtains. He walked down the long corridor which ran the length of the house, small tufts of dust coming up from his boots as they pressed into the long abandoned and unhoovered carpet.

The house layout was going to be the same no matter which one he picked in this cul-de-sac. Long central hallway to a kitchen at the back, a living room on the first left, a dining room on the second. Stairs up to three bedrooms and on his immediate right….

He pushed open the door and peered inside, it was too gloomy to see, the thick curtains blocked out nearly all lighting. He could see the odd, lumpy shapes of furniture. Moving to the window, he threw open the curtains and light spilled in, causing him to squint at the sudden extra light. Normally these smaller rooms were turned into storage or home offices and useful for salvage.

So, turned out whoever lived here preferred to turn this into a small rec room. A tv sat on a thickly built wooden and glass TV stand with a half dozen or so shelves inside and a cracked leather couch sat in one corner.

Teenager, perhaps.

The old man walked over to the TV stand and pulled open the doors. A pile of games fell out with a clatter in their old casings, one stared up at him that caused him to scoff derisively, at some point it’d been used as a coaster and then thrown back in, but it was some end of the world game in which the world turned utterly to chaos.

He scooped them up and flicked through a few of them, before kneeling down in front of the stand with a groan. Inside were not one, but three different gaming consoles. He grumbled a little and began to pull them out, quickly unplugging the wiring and reaching for the overloaded plug socket to yank all the wiring out.

He stacked up the games and the consoles neatly, and used the TV stand to pull himself back upright before carrying them out to the door and putting them into his cavernous backpack.

Next he pushed open the first door on the left, the living room. Another large TV dominated the room and a comfortable and expensive looking sofa set now looking very sorry for itself. He began to check around the edges of the room near the plugs. He found a single, long and thin cable and followed it to the side of the couch. Under some paper were a mobile phone and a tablet computer. He picked them both up and checked them over before nodding and tucking them under his arm.

Finally, he glanced at the sofa again, and saw a handbag, cracked heavily down one side and half tucked into one of the sofa cushions' sides. He pulled it out with a slight yank and opened it up, tipping it upside down tissues, pens, a purse, a diary and another phone tumbled out of the sofa with a thud. He picked that up and put it with the other two.

Looking around, he found yet another gaming console, same as one of the others in the smaller room and shrugged, grabbing it and taking the few items back out to his backpack.

He checked how they were put away into the backpack, and then lifted it onto one shoulder and walked slowly up the stairs.

The stairs creaked and groaned from lack of maintenance and the man used the bannister to steady himself.

Reaching the landing he found himself faced with another four doors, two in front of him should be bedrooms, a bathroom to the left over the small den room and to his right a box bedroom.

He set his backpack down on the landing and pushed open the door to his right and smiled. It was a home office. Exactly what he was after. The tower PC stood on top of the desk alongside the monitor, the monitor was far too big, but he unplugged it anyway in order to get at the tower computer. He popped the case open and checked it, it was full of dust but looked complete and undamaged as far as he could tell.

He headed back to his backpack and grabbed a bulb syringe, a small set of screwdrivers and a leather satchel with a neatly stitched cloth interior.

Old and beginning to show lots of signs of wear, just like himself he used the syringe to blow the dust off without causing him to cough. Then, with practised skill he pulled the computer apart quickly, unclipping parts and putting them aside on the desk. RAM chips, Solid State Drive, the graphics card, the power unit and finally after a bit of muttered swearing and jostling, the motherboard with the CPU.

All the parts went into the leather satchel, which had been designed with this in mind, each pocket and division was sized for this. With the largest reserved for the power unit, graphics card and motherboard.

Closing the satchel he looked at the desk some more, noticing some drawers down the side, he slid one open, it moved with surprising ease considering it probably hadn’t been opened in 16 years. Sat on top of some papers was a laptop, clearly some cheap works model. The papers underneath showed the house’s address and that the family’s name was Harrison.

The man picked it up and with a shrug, tucked it under his arm alongside the satchel, which he threw over one shoulder and headed back to the landing.

Putting the final items away he stretched a little and took a look at the bedroom door ahead of him. He adjusted his mask a little as the air inside was still and quite stuffy despite many of the blinds and curtains being pulled closed. He gripped the door handle and slowly opened the door.

The bedroom was empty, the covers and some of the pillows strewn around the room, as if they’d been woken in the night in order to evacuate.

At least these folks had maybe gone on to live another day, or at least a little longer.

There didn’t seem to be much that he’d be after in this room, and he let the door half close behind him. Letting the ghosts of the past lie dormant some more.

He grabbed his bergen and headed back downstairs, he chose to ignore the kitchen at the back of the house. He’d made that mistake a couple of times when he began this work, the end result was rarely pretty.

Coming back out into the sunlight caused him to squint quite a bit and raise a hand up to cover his eyes. He undid his mask and put it away before checking his bag and how it was loaded. Once satisfied, he pulled the bag onto his back and adjusted the straps a tiny bit before walking back down the cul-de-sac.

At the very end of the road, a deer was nibbling gently at a bush that had overgrown and spilled out into the road. Its feet soft on the mossy growth that had once been a pavement. It stopped and warily looked at the man in green as he continued to walk towards it.

Its ears seemed to swivel behind it, up the other roadway before springing and bouncing away.

The man frowned a little and tilted his head to try and hear. He reached the end of the cul-de-sac and felt a shiver down his spine. He could hear the distinct sound of an engine that was coming this way.

He ran across the road to a pub opposite called the Boat and Horses and kicked the door, hard. It had rotted in a couple of places and gave way after a second, hard kick. He rushed inside and found a chair, pushing it back against the door. He ran to the dust covered bar and ducked down behind it, throwing his bergen off of his shoulders and crouching down, he reached up briefly and grabbed a dust covered bottle of whisky and cracked it open, taking a slug and feeling the warmth hit the back of his throat.

There was a sound of screeching brakes and a loud crash, followed swiftly by someone forcing the pub door open...

[texican]

CM,

Good start.

Thanks,

Texican....

[sniper69]

Thank you for sharing the first chapter of this story.

[9idrr]

Seems like a good start, but we might need another ten or twenty chapters to be sure.

[castleman]

Thanks for the many likes and kind words so far. Certainly having a lot more fun plotting this story out than last time, that's for sure.


The man stayed ducked behind the bar as three figures rushed into the pub’s dark interior. It was a woman, bleeding slightly from a cut to her head and with matted blonde hair, a younger copy of herself, and a young boy who’s blonde hair was turning brown.



“Mum, they’re still coming!” The young girl said as she looked out of one of the grime covered windows. “We need to hide.”



The sound of another engine whining as it was gunned could be heard in the distance.



“Quick, into the back, keep quiet and out of sight.” The woman said pointing to the back door, she stopped and glanced back as a car revved and pulled up in the roadway outside and doors opened. She looked at the man in green hiding behind the bar and let out a scream of surprise.



“Where was that?” A voice outside queried. “The pub door’s open. In there, quick.”



“Get in the back with your kids, now. I’ll deal with them.” The man in green said as he jumped up. The woman, wide-eyed and fearful nodded and dashed into the back. Thinking quickly he opened the bottle of whiskey and poured it on himself, wincing slightly as it was half decent stuff. Patting himself down with it and finding an old, battered £20 note from one of his pockets, useless now, he put it on the bar and grabbed a glass.



The door burst open and two men walked in, both were wearing high vis jackets with “Civil Protection” stenciled onto them, the paint job being poor and it was already cracking and flaking away.



“You, did you see a woman and two kids?” he pointed to the green man with a large wooden billy club.



“Woman?” The green man slurred his speech. “Mmm, been a while since I saw a woman.” he coughed and laughed phlegm at the back of his throat causing it to gurgle. He took a shot of the whiskey and slammed the small glass back down, refilling it with shaking hands.



“Woman. Two kids. Caucasian, blonde hair. Mid 40s.” One of them replied before placing his club next to the glass as the green man went to reach for it again. “Just crashed the car outside?”



The green man swayed a little on his feet. “Car?” he stared at the glass then began looking up at the high vis wearing figure. He was young, half his age easily and would’ve been a kid when everything had happened. “I can fix ‘em you know.” He tapped at his logo. “Welch’s auto repair! Best in the area!”



“Oh for…” The other sighed and nodded to the other officer to check the back. “Heard a scream, drunkard.”



Welch let out a high pitched hiccup. “I heard nuffin.”



The Civil Protection office leant in, before leaning back at the smell of the whiskey all over his clothing. “Well, Mr Welch. Looting’s a crime. If you tell me where the woman and her kids went, I’ll let you off.”



“S’not looting. See?” Welch tapped the note he’d left on the bar.



“Breaking and entering is an offence.”



“Door was open when I got here.”



The baton swept the glass off, causing it to shatter on the floor.



“Now you gotta pay damages.” Welch slurred.



The commotion of the smashing glass caused the other civil protection officer to come back into the main bar area.



“Find anything?” The officer opposite Welch said as he continued to stare at him, Welch held his gaze with a lazy stare.



“Nothing, no sign of anyone bar him.”



“Hahah, bar.” Welch laughed and swayed on the spot. “Pub, bar? Gettit?” he laughed some more.



The officer shook his head. “Forget it, they must’ve run towards the river, hoping for a boat or something. We’ll radio it in and organise a sweep along the river.”



“What about this one?” The other officer nodded to Welch. “Mechanics are hard to come by.”



“Old drunk vagrant, broken mind. Still trying to pay with old pounds. We don’t need the paperwork or waste of resources for mental health. Sod him. Let’s go. We’ve wasted enough time here and they’re getting away.”



The officers left and Welch heard the car doors open and slam before an engine fired up and gunned away.



Welch let out a long breath and immediately turned around and began grabbing the bottles off of the shelves. Rum, another whiskey, different bottles of wine left on the shelves, he quickly checked them to see if the seal was broken, any that were, were put back.



Then he heard the tapping, it was urgent.



He’d send them into the back… into the kitchen.



Welch grimaced. He avoided those sorts of places for a reason.



He urgently did up his Bergen and headed into the kitchen, it had been left as it had, neat and ready for the next shift, but said shift had never come. He quickly ran to the walk in freezer and opened it. The hideous, nasty smell of slimey, stenched and rotten meat mostly held in place these past 16 years by the seal of the door spilled forth.



All three of them were vomiting badly and he grabbed them, pushing them towards the front as he covered his mouth and nose with the sleeve of his overalls. He slammed the door shut and rushed back into the front, grabbed his backpack and headed for the door, waving them over.



All four of them took a deep breath of the fresh air outside.



“Never open abandoned freezers or fridges. You never been in abandoned areas before?” Welch gasped a few more breaths of fresh air.



“No, sorry.” The older woman replied. “Didn’t realise it could get that-” She retched again and leant against the wall.



The two kids were also still retching and the younger boy was coughing and spitting constantly.



“Well, good luck to you, try and head the opposite way to civil protection.” Welch adjusted his backpack and began to walk away.



“Wait, wait!” The daughter asked urgently. “Can you take us with you? We’re trying to run from the emergency administration and you seem to know your way around them.”



“Look, follow the rail line or the river after they’ve swept it, it’s really not that hard.” Welch gestured down the end of the street where the river was.



Civil Protection was an amalgamation of the remains of the emergency services into a single cohesive unit, it was done during the final days of civic government, where large swathes of the country were placed under emergency administrations tied to the largest regional city. In this region, Nottingham was the largest and held sway over the entire East Midlands and had total control over all government functions and food production. In theory, they were in the heart of Emergency Administration Territory as Beeston lay just to the south.



The Administration instead had focused its efforts on the north-east of the city, extending outwards into the highly fertile nearby county of Lincolnshire, leaving the rest of its territory to its fate. It had prioritized “Essential workers” meaning they turned up one day to tell you where you were to be relocated because your skillset was needed. “Non-essentials” were either abandoned, with the promise of help, or sometimes taken as well to be assigned to work farms.



Conditions were not great.



“We, we really don’t know the area.” The mother gasped finally getting a good lung full of clean air. “God that smell.”



Welch sighed. “I don’t know it that well either.”



“Well how did you get here?” the daughter asked, standing up straight and crossing her arms.



“Shank’s Pony.” Welch replied.



“The hell is a Shank’s Pony?” The daughter snapped back. “Some kind of bike or something?”



“No, old expression for walking. Which I am now doing. Good day.” Welch turned and began to walk down the road towards the river.



He could hear them following and he sighed and grumbled a little to himself. They were quite a way back, but enough for him to not care all that much. He’d helped them only to avoid a beating, he rubbed at his upper arm involuntarily as he thought of that, to him, they were just another gang with a veneer of legitimacy. Most groups were these days. Some were better than others. His client, for example…



Welch pinched the bridge of his nose as he turned right from Trent Road onto Canal Side. The grass was high and spilling out into the road and the bushes too were unkempt. Cars and boats now sat, side by side. Most within the canal half sunk into the muck and silt of the long filled up canal. 16 years and a lack of maintenance would do that. Silt building up had choked most of these once grand artificial waterways, and where it hadn’t lock gates had likely done a similar job, leaving long stretches of foul smelling, stagnant water.



As he reached the end of the Canal side road, rather than turn onto south road, he continued straight onto the canal towpath. If the CP thugs were as he suspected, somewhat lazy, then they’d have stuck purely to the roads while waiting for the rest of them to arrive. He passed by the lock gates, now permanently stuck shut due to a combination of the canal silting up and the river doing the same and finally arrived at the beautiful running water of the River Trent.



He smiled a little and continued his walk down to the Marina, where a cluster of brick and wooden buildings sat looking worse for wear. Just like at the canal, there were boats here too, but all had sunk into the water, with most just jutting up out of the river. Others had rested on the silt bottom and showed only the upper part of their superstructures. All bar one, which welch owned. A simple, small row boat which could comfortably sit a few people. It was thankfully light enough that, with a bit of effort, he could drag it out of the river and around the numerous weirs that lay between here and his home.



As Welch began to untie the boat from its mooring, the three figures approached him again. This time it was the mother who spoke. “Please, please take us with you.”



Welch groaned and looked up at them. “Pay me, then.”



“Pay you? I don’t have any…” She seemed to blanche a little, then blushed and muttered. “I. Uhm… Not with the kids nearby….”



“I take pre-plague booze and information. What did you do before everything collapsed?”



“I worked as an office admin for a solicitor.”



“So that’d be no on the info then, lot of legal stuff went out the window that meant anything.”



Welch sighed, shook his head and went back to untying the boat.



The both stopped when they heard the crash of glass and looked up to the Riverside Bar, where the daughter was clearing the glass away from the door with a rock, she then reached in and unlocked it, vanishing into the gloomy interior. She returned a moment later with a half dozen bottles taken from behind the bar in her arms.



Welch looked at the bottles, it included some more rum and other, now rare bottles of booze that were impossible to come by these days. He grumbled, then nodded.



The daughter smiled and set them on the side by his backpack and climbed into the boat, helping her mother and younger brother in.



“I’m Amanda, this is my mum Shioban and my brother, Terry. Nice to meet you, Mr Welch.”



Welch got the final knot undone, tossed in his bergen and pushed off of the dockside, jumping easily into the boat with practised effort, and lifted the oars.



“Charmed. I’m sure. Look, we’re not going too far tonight, just a couple of bends around the river. Going to take a few days to get back, in fact as I…” he grunted slightly as he pulled the oars through the water. “Am doing this upstream.”



The little wooden boat bobbed slightly as it quietly headed up the river.

[9idrr]

Sounds as though the daughter is on the ball.

[texican]

Apr 18, 2020 21:08:59 GMT -6 9idrr said:

Sounds as though the daughter is on the ball.

And mom knew what else to trade.

Texican....

[castleman]

Thanks as always for the comments and likes. I'm wondering wether to have a companion piece, namely the guidebook mentioned in this chapter. What do folks reckon?

A moor hen bobbed alongside the small rowboat for a while, curiosity at the visitors to its part of the river and a hope for some scraps of food. It swam alongside for a little while, then lost interest as no food was forthcoming. Aside from the odd piece of birdsong and the grunting of Welch as he rowed, there was silence as the sun turned the sky a beautiful golden hue as it began to sink slowly on the horizon.

They had only gone around two bends in the river before the island came into view. It was somewhat overgrown, but the small plume of smoke rising upwards from its centre suggested it was by design rather than the nature around them.

Welch grunted some more and piloted the boat towards a small, concrete jetty that stuck out into the river and had been repaired over the years, patches of concrete looked newer while other parts had been repaired with freshly cut wooden planks soaked in creosote.

As Welch got a little closer, a tall man, older than Welch but with muscles far bigger than his stood out onto the jetty, he held his arm out and grabbed hold of the front of Welch’s boat with practised ease.

“Evening Mr Welch, cabin for four?”

“Food too, if you got it.”

“Always, stew alright? Got barter?”

Welch nodded as his boat was secured to the jetty with a chain and a padlock clipped to it and reached for his bergen, he pulled one of the bottles of pre-collapse wine out and offered it up. The tall man took it, looked it over and nodded. “Come aboard then!”

Welch nodded to the others as they got out of the boat as he did his bergen back up. The Tall man helped them out with one of his big, bear like hands before offering his hand to Welch.

“Didn’t know you were going into the ferrying business, I got quite a few folks needing a trip up the river to-”

“No, no, I’m still a scavenger. Just picked them up in Beeston and they’ve paid me to take them back. Don’t get me wrong, Clive, it’s just an extra job.”

Clive rubbed his chin and scratched at his beard a little, then nodded. Trading info like this was part of the job. Good picking locations, potential staches etc all were for trade.

“Looked like the Marina and the boat yard hadn’t been touched much you know.” Welch began to offer. “Was surprised by that. Mind, north of the river I suppose.”

“That so.” Clive replied, noncommittally. “You get a decent look?”

“Maybe. Maybe on my way in anyways…” Welch replied with a stretch as he lifted his backpack up again.

“Extra bedding?” Clive said with a glance.

“Extra bowl.” Welch grinned.

Clive let out a long sigh as he thought it over.

“Fine. Tell me. Last I heard the Emergency Admin went through there putting holes in the boats. That was the rumour anyway.”

Welch shook his head. “Nah, anything in the water sank from nobody looking after them. Looks like the workshops and anything in the yards are untouched. Could land yourself a nice 40ft canal barge if you like…and the tools to fix them.”

Clive grinned a little and nodded. “Extra bowl and a bit of bread for that one. Lady Seymour’d love to expand one of the yards at least. I need to go to Thrumpton tomorrow anyway, need a tow?”

“How much is that going to cost me?” Welch looked sidelong at Clive.

“The bread I was going to give you. Headed there anyway.” Clive grinned.

“Would save my arms a bit I guess.” He muttered and held out his hand, which Clive grasped and shook.

The other three were being shown into a small hut by an old woman bent practically double in the middle by age, her hair long turned white and pretty much all of her clothes seemed to have been knitted by herself. She was kindly and spoke with the warmth of a grandmother.

“There we are, now, this hut over here,” She pointed one shakey hand towards another, slightly larger hut “is where Clive and I live and it’s where you can get some stew when you’re ready. Simple wooden bowls and wooden spoons I am afraid, though. Clive does love his whittling, so there’ll be no splinters, I guarantee it. Now, bedding’s hanging up and airing there at the end of the building, just leave it in the morning and I’ll sort it later. If you need anything my name’s Una and you best be calling me that. Can’t stand being called Mrs Hitchin, makes me sound like an old fart.” She smiled and chuckled a little.

“Excuse me, but what’s this?” Terry held up a small, post-collapse booklet made with rough, thick sheets of paper.

“Oh, that? It’s a guide to the local area, it comes included in the room. Hard to come by so please don’t take it with you when you leave.”

The book itself had a grey cover and printed firmly on the front were the words “Guide to our rebuilding world: River Trent and Tributaries Edition. By J.R Hartley.”

“If you know how to read you can enjoy it till you leave.”

Terry nodded and sat down on one of the beds and opened it. Squinting a little. “He writes funny.”

“It’s done in the style of an old travel guide. Nice and informative and even has an entry for us in there.” Una nodded and hobbled away to the larger hut.

Welch set his Bergen down by the bed closest to the door and sat on the bed with a groan.

“So…” Amanda stood nearby, her hands behind her back while her mother fussed around setting the bedding up for the three of them.

Welch grumbled. “So next time please avoid breaking glass.”

“Why? It’s not like anyone’s going to come claim it in a dead zone.” Amanda shrugged.

“One, you could get hurt and finding a first aid kit is hard sometimes. Two, you could alert any number of things. Wolves, lynx, bears, boars any of the good creatures released into the wild by well meaning folks when everyone was dying and not many of them are friendly and have unlearned being scared of humans. Three, it’s just messy and if civil protection or someone who claims that area comes along...”

“Well, how do you do it?” Amanda’s armed were crossed before her now. “I mean, you kicked in the door of the pub, it’s why we hid there.”

“I pick locks. Normally. Your mother gunning that car engine for all its worth had me a bit caught short.” Welch lay back on the bed and closed his eyes. “Though her driving skills are much to be desired.”

Shioban at that moment dumped the bedding and pillows ontop of Welch, who grunted as he moved them. “Remember who your ride is.”

Shioban at that moment headed outside and to the hut where Clive and Una lived.

“So why’re you guys running, anyway?” Welch turned to ask Amanda.

“Mum was being pestered a lot by a councillor. He made some sort of threat against us, wanting his own kids, so decided it best to run. That was his car we crashed. Stupid deer.”

“They can be. Taste pretty good though.” Welch observed, settling into the bed’s mattress.

Amanda hovered near him still and Welch cracked one eye open slightly. Something had been quietly bothering him since he’d met them.

Too clean. Too well fed.

Most people after the collapse were still using clothing from scavenged stores or warehouses or even homes. The end to the throw away and replace culture had meant clothing was increasingly patched, repaired and otherwise kept going as best as possible. Welch’s own overalls had been patched by other pieces of similar material from shredded or now useless clothing cut up for scraps. Some folks were only just getting into simpler clothing made after the end of the world, trying to revive a fashion industry of sorts where people were more organised.

But these three… not a scrap or patch between them. In fact aside from a day or so’s sweat stains from the hot weather, it looked as if they’d been freshly laundered too.

Then there was their weight. When food became a precious resource once again and lots of fatty foods had vanished from being filled with sugars and preservatives and hard graft had become the norm once again, people’s weights had plummeted. The only ones who seemed to remain fat were bakers, butchers and those in charge.

These guys clearly didn’t show any of the usual signs, no real muscle mass from physical work, and no lack of food either...

Welch was on day 8 or so since he’d even seen a hot bath, let alone cleaned his thick overalls.

“Can you teach me?” Amanda finally said after a few minutes of silence.

“Huh?”

“To open locks, like you do.”

“Not right now, no.” Welch sighed and closed his eyes fully again

“Why not?”

“Because everything on this island is owned and picking open their locks is a good way of getting kicked out. Plus I’m tired, hungry and thirsty.”

“Fine, I get you some food and drink, you teach me at the earliest opportunity.” Amanda said with a tilt of her head back.

Welch sighed. “Fine, you know what? Fine.”

He sat up only to see Amanda heading towards the hut to grab some food and sighed. He stood up and headed to a picnic table that had been set up at some point or another, from the way some moss was taking to it, it had been here a while.

The polished wooden bowl filled with stew was placed in front of him, and Amanda offered a wooden spoon to him, which Welch took and began to eat. It was filled with seasonal vegetables for June in britain, a bit of asparagus, new potato, carrots, in all the flavour was wonderful.

“Your mother seems far jumpier than you.” Welch observed as Shioban carried two bowls back to the hut where Terry was still reading the guide.

“I think she’s just embarrassed her first thought was to offer her body.” Amanda shrugged and pulled her ponytail over her shoulder before tucking into the bowl of stew herself.

Welch kept one eye towards the hut before taking another spoonful of stew. “So, what was it you guys did? Out there in the Emergency Administration?”

“Mum worked in their central offices. Not sure what she did exactly, but suddenly everyone in our close was being taken away by civil protection and Mum managed to swipe a car in the chaos. She used her ID to run any roadblocks until they finally got word out.” Amanda shrugged and took another spoonful of stew. “What meat is this anyway?” She looked at it with a slight frown. “Tastes really… sweet.”

“It’s squirrel.”

Welch smiled a little bit as Amanda choked and spluttered before licking her lips a little.

“Y’know what? Screw it, it tastes good and I’ve not eaten since yesterday.” She dipped her spoon in again, getting a piece with asparagus in it. She finished the bowl and smacked her lips happily. “So, where are you going, aside from taking us to safety?”

“Tutbury.” Welch replied after a moment. “It’s a town upriver where what I tend to scavenge fetches a good price.” He held up a hand. “Any more questions you have to pay for, I trade in information as well as items pulled from abandoned zones.”

Amanda pouted a little. “Fine, I’ll do some rowing tomorrow. What do you tra-”

Welch shook his head and folded his arms. “Clive’s rowing tomorrow, going to take us to Thrumpton by towing us, he’s a ferryman so can do that easily. You’ll have to figure something out.”

“What if…” Amanda paused, tapping her spoon on her chin. “I became your apprentice?”

Welch frowned.

“Look, we’re going to need some sort of job when we get where we’re going. There’s a lot of abandoned places about, why not? Plus, you know… did kind of pay you a lot of alcohol there.” Amanda smiled at him.

Welch put his spoon down and rubbed his face. The girl was right, for the trip he’d been paid far in excess, extortionately so. “Alright, alright, probably won’t be able to begin lessons until tomorrow night though.”

Amanda smiled, then grabbed the empty bowls and with a wide smile walked back to the hut to return them.

Welch began to regret his honesty immediately.

[9idrr]

For some reason, I'm picturing the Python cast in this. Seems to be an under-current of humor. Or is it humour?

[texican]

CM.

Seems like Welch has found himself a ready made family.

Texican....

[castleman]

They do seem a bit out of a box ready, don't they?

Blackbird song broke through the trees as a gentle mist rolled over the river and Barton Island. The sun was already warming the river causing a slight haze to form and add to the mist.

Welch woke and slowly rubbed sleep from his eyes and checked his pack over. He ran a hand through his hair and yawned, it styling itself into a widow’s peak. He scratched his chin and yawned again, rolling up his bedding before standing and stretching. He checked his heavy boots, they were pre-plague boots, hefty and with a good steel plate in the toes, he flipped them upside down and banged them, watching a small spider fall out and scurry off.

He grumbled and pulled the boots on and checked the lacing.

The other three were still fast asleep and Welch made some noise as he checked the contents of her bergen over, clanking the bottles that were inside it especially.

Siobhan stirred a little and then went straight back to sleep. Welch rolled his eyes and pulled his bag over his shoulder and headed back to the boat.

Clive had already tied it to his own boat, with both held to the dockside. Clive’s oars were being checked over and rubbed with linseed oil with a linen cloth.

“Morning.” Welch said with a final yawn before he put his bag into the boat.

“Morning Mr Welch.” Clive continued to oil the oars before he put them onto his boat. “Got another prospecting couple to ferry back up from Thrumpton. Reckon I can get some extra supplies out of them for that tip you gave me, and a bit more for pointing out a willing customer in Lady Seymour so thanks. You ready?”

Welch looked back towards the hut. “I am, but the others…”

“Yeah, they do look a bit like they’ve been living in comfort don’t they?” Clive chuckled. “Certainly not like they’ve been rising like normal folk.”

Welch put two fingers into his mouth and blasted a shrill whistle to the point Clive winced.

Bleary-eyed, the family trooped out of the hut, hair messed up and yawning wondering what the weird noise was.

“What is it, Mr Welch?” Siobhan said bleary eyed.

“We’re going. Hurry up, please.” Welch replied.

“Ok, what’s for breakfast though?” Siobhan asked, looking around for Una as if she were the maid.

“We didn’t pay for breakfast here. Will you hurry up please? Clive has other customers to meet.”

Siobhan frowned and hurried the two kids to the boat before sitting into Welch’s boat herself, she seemed almost annoyed there was no breakfast service for the morning.

“We can eat later. For now we need to get up the river.” Welch said as Clive climbed aboard his own boat and untied the knots and chains.

The trip up the river was a little longer, this time. On their right as they headed Westward was a former nature park that had turned into a swampy wetland from 16 years of neglect. Swans and mallards would come to stare curiously at the boats, or swim alongside for a while and, once realising there was nothing forthcoming, would often swim away again.

A small hut, its roof sagging in the middle revealed itself briefly from the trees, a thin whispy plume of smoke and a coracle leaning against the rotting hut all gave the obvious signs of occupation.

“Fishermen and duck hunters love the old reserve there.” Clive said as he pulled the oars deep into the water and brought them along the river at a steady pace that could only come from years of work and practise. “Nice and quiet, lets them work. Usually a few of them about, but looks like only one at the minute.”

They continued up the river, the sun rising further and burning away all traces of the fog which had plagued them initially. It was a serene experience for the three who, only the day before, had been driving a car and rushing to get away from Civil Protection.

“So, Siobhan.” Welch began as he checked his own oars over, they were made of plastic and had begun to crack in a couple of places. He’d need to replace them soon, it seemed. “Amanda tells me you used to work for the Emergency Admin?”

Siobhan stiffened and shot daggers at Amanda before turning back to Welch. “Everyone works for the Emergency Admin, Mr Welch. Those of us not out here in the wildlands, anyway.”

Welch snorted with laughter. “That’s what you call these places now? Wildlands? There’s plenty of civilization out here miss, just smaller than it was. So what did you do, really? Hmm? You still seem tied to the idea of the admin despite you running from them.”

Siobhan sighed and shot another look to Amanda who shrugged and rolled her eyes. “I did the farm administration, ensured the yields were kept up to feed everyone. That sort of thing.”

“How many farms?” Welch asked.

“About a dozen or so, smaller than they used to be on account of fuel being scarce.”

“Suppose it is out there…” Welch mused and rubbed his chin. “Didn’t they swap to biofuel using hemp? Stuff will grow damn near anywhere after all.”

“Yes, but obviously civil protection gets the lion’s share and parts for farm machinery is getting scarce. Most of the farms I ran had to harvest by hand, last year.”

Welch shook his head. “Sometimes older ways, or new ways’re better. Lot of farms further on are using all sorts of creative ways to harvest and move things.”

Siobhan nodded. “I just hope that we can find somewhere. I doubt there’s much call for administrators out here.”

Clive laughed. “No, like food we scavenge or grow our own!”

Welch chuckled as well, but Siobhan did not find it funny and sat with a shake of her head.

“Need I remind you both that we’re running from our lives from Civil Protection?” She snapped.

“Folks do every year.” Clive replied. “You’re not the first to be ferried back. Most settle nearby and find new lives, you and yours will too.”

Siobhan folded her arms and remained silent the rest of the trip.

They passed by abandoned homes on the southern bank, hidden among the reeds and weeds showed that boats too had once been tied there with rotting wooden jetties falling into the river and sagging into the mud. The bow of one boat stuck out, its outline slowly turning green just visible under the water of the river.

A couple of hours passed before they rounded another curve in the river and the first trappings of civilization appeared. The growth around the riverbank was thinned out and instead a neat cart track ran alongside. A short procession of carts was being hauled along by a variety of things and machinery. Some were hauled by horses, who shook their heads impatiently, and a couple were being hauled by a small, old fashioned looking tractor, who’s engine spluttered along quite happily as it hauled the crops behind it, solid looking tyres digging into the dusty ground with ease.

Clive waved to the farmers and farm hands who were hauling the crops in. Piled high was hemp plants and cart after cart was filled to the brim with them.

Another bend of the river later and they were at their destination. The village of Thrumpton, what had once been a sleepy, rural seat had become an important hive of activity.

The village itself had grown quite a bit as refugees from elsewhere had settled there for protection or work. As such, new buildings, themselves scavenged material from elsewhere had risen. The hub of this newly expanded village was a former pleasure lake fed by the river. The bank had been dug away and deepened slightly in order to create a natural harbour area. In turn, the pleasure grounds to the south had been cleared and wooden warehouses had sprung up, with the dockside being made seemingly from house bricks recovered, repurposed and re mortared into a quayside. Further down was a railway oil car that had somehow been dragged there and placed quayside, it was fueling another tractor which spluttered into life and began to head back towards the fields.

Several vessels were tied up alongside it, narrow boats as they were called. Each just under 70 feet long by just off 7 feet wide. All were being piled high with the harvested hemp.

Clive rowed the two boats until he was near a wooden jetty which was just up from the harbour and threw a rope which was caught by a passing dock worker.

“Lo there!” Clive called. “Good harvest?”

“Best we’ve had for this time of year ever.” The dockworker said before hurrying along as the first, tractor hauled cart passed him by.

The hemp was being unloaded into a warehouse where it was being piled into the boats with pitchforks quickly and by a small army of people, men and women both were moving quickly while another stood to the side, making notes on a roofing tile before holding it up to another in a hut a little distance away.

The group departed the boats and pulled themselves ashore. Welch nodded his thanks to Clive and headed down the quayside to the helmsman of the first boat he saw.

“Good day.” Welch said with a nod as the Helmsman looked away from the loading of his boat to Welch.

“Good day sir, help you at all?” The man was wearing more ‘modern’ clothing. Linen shirt and hard wearing, canvas trousers befitting of a man constantly climbing around a boat, his boots were clearly made to order and fitted as well.

“Was wondering if I could catch a ride, I’m rowing for four otherwise.” Welch pointed with a thumb over his shoulder at the family with the children, and adult, all looking at the hive of industry in various forms of wonder.

“I’d have to ask my dad, I’m just the butte helmsman.” The man replied, scratching his bearded chin and nodding to the other vessel in front. The Butte was an unpowered canal boat that had to be hauled by horse, or by another vessel in this case, the identical vessel ahead which had an older man leaning on the tiller, watching people as they loaded his barge.

Welch ran a hand through his hair. “Well, I’d like passage to Willington, if possible.”

“It’s where we’re going, as it happens.” The helmsman nodded. “I’ll go ask him, hold on.”

The younger man stepped off the barge and spoke briefly with the old man. With a glance towards Welch and the others, he nodded and said something else to his son. The son walked back.

“Says he’ll take you if you can pay the lock fees and cover your own food, of course.” The helmsman clicked his fingers. “Oh, but we won’t be going much further till tomorrow, we’re docking at The Shardlow Bazaar for the day for a resupply and Dad wants to catch up with his friends.”

Welch nodded. “Alright, I think we can cover that.” Welch patted another pocket, then checked his bergen. He had just enough to cover the first two locks and then would sell some things at the Bazaar to cover the remainder and make a tidy profit too.

“Well? Any news?” A stern female school teacher's sounding voice cut through the bustle of the crowds. Welch and the Helmsman turned to look, with the Helmsman taking his woolen flat cap off when he stiffened slightly.

In a long flowing dress more fit for the Victorian Era the woman with her silver hair tied into a bun looked to the other gentleman, dressed in a waistcoat and tie he held a ream of paper in his hands.

“None I am afraid, My Lady.” The man replied as he dabbed his bald forehead with a handkerchief. “That makes the fertilizer a day late, and the fuel too.”

“Honestly, how do those dukedom lot expect me to join them when they can barely run a prompt delivery service?” The woman tutted and shook her head.

“It is only a day, M’am. There could be reasons, a lock getting stuck, a bottleneck, an accident, even.”

“When that happened to one of ours we sent someone back and told them there’d be issue, I’d expect the same courtesy.” Lady Seymour folded her arms and looked to the barges and the younger helmsman. “You, I’ll pay you extra if you find out where the hell my fertilizer and fuel is. 10 Trips.”

“Ah, yes Ma’am, we’ll find out for you and report back quickly.”

“What are trips?” Terry asked, looking to Welch. Siobhan and Amanda looked equally confused.

Welch fished a small bag out of one of the bergen’s many pockets and held up a small, copper triangle with a large T emblazoned on one side and a castle’s keep on the other.

“This is a Trip, real name is a Tutbury Token, but everyone called them Trips cause they’re three sided, see? It’s money, they already use it along the Trent, the Derwent, the Soar and all across the Dukedom. Lots of folks are grabbing it because it's backed by the people who live in Tutbury, and they don’t barter any more. It’s either pay for things in Trips or don’t bother.”

“But how come you’re bartering for everything?” Siobhan asked. “I thought that’s all that was left out here, bartering.”

“Easy, I’m low on trips.” Welch replied.

“You’ll want to get your row boat and tie it to the back of the butte.” The Helmsman said as he climbed back onto his vessel. “We’ll be leaving shortly.”

Welch nodded and quickly got his rowboat, tying it off to the very rear of the butte. The lead canal barge spluttered into life, throwing out a plume of black, oily smoke before it turned to head back to the open river. With this, Welch had saved himself probably a day in travel time and a lot of rowing.

[texican]

The Wildlands have people that are working and living in them.

Thanks CM for the chapter.

Texican....

[9idrr]

How far are they gonna get before it's too primitive for the tenderfeet?

[bluefox2]

me thinks mom is hiding an agenda even from her kids.

[castleman]

The group enjoyed the short boat ride to the large nearby marina. What had once been used purely for pleasurecraft had revived itself as a hub of boats and activity on the river. Around half of it had been left to silt up due to lack of use. However, the marina still boasted an impressive space for 60 or more boats.

More so when most of those spaces were also filled.

The old man and his son had piloted their craft with ease and professionalism that showed they’d been doing this since before The Plague, and casual conversation revealed they had once done boat tours along this stretch of the river, however his father had always had a hankering for being able to haul goods like in the old days along it, and with most roadways now tree and weed strewn messes, if not impromptu rivers when the rains came, the rivers had revived as a means of transportation.

Groups had to be organised to maintain canals, but companies had soon formed and fees to use them paid in goods at first and then as time had gone by, the Trip. This change largely came about as the “Tutbury Dukedom” had expanded along railway lines and canals, finding the transport easier to maintain in the early days of rebuilding, allowing communities to flourish along the rivers with trade.

Vessels which carried the flag or symbol of the tower were increasingly a common sight along these waterways, with more communities along the river slowly falling under their influence.

You had to pay quite a sum for that, but it resulted in you being able to pass through the locks without issue or crucially, payment at the time.

Unfortunately, the boat they had picked was not one such boat, it was an independant that wandered the rivers and canals wherever the contracts took them, their vessel would carry hemp and biodiesel back and forth for the next couple of weeks, but then might go somewhere else soon after. It could be anything, hauling some people, some goods, going to collect salvaged building materials from a scavenger camp. Anything, and the both of them enjoyed the semi-wandering lifestyle.

The marina itself had quietly become a settlement in its own right, with the jetties being maintained and lit when needed by lantern, and the workshops around the edge expanded and still used for their original purpose, with more boats being made to meet demand. Most now being entirely newly built out of wood and steel rather than the plastic that some boats had begun to be made out of in the thirty years before the collapse caused by The Blue Plague.

What had once been the car park had become a series of small log cabins used by people who helped build the boats, it was a small community with a little pub and boats converted to shops and brightly painted to reflect their less mobile role.

As the canal barge and butte chugged their way under a small footbridge a lone guard, a shotgun slung over his back waved to them as they arrived. Siobhan shrank back a little at the sight of the firearm but Welch simply waved back.

“Are guns common out here, Mr Welch?” She asked Welch who was already eyeing up the boats for potential customers for his things in his bag.

“Hrm? Oh, well, these days. Got to defend yourself from wildlife, the odd remaining highwayman. Scavengers tend to keep weapons to hand for hunting or protection. Civil protection uses some don’t they?”

“Only the properly trained units.” She replied.

Welch shrugged.

The barge and butte found a spot to be moored and Welch stepped off the butte with an ease that showed he’d done it before. The other three were a little more cautious which amused the helmsman.


Welch pulled his bergen onto his shoulders and began to look around the various barges. He considered his options for a moment or two, looking at them. Several sported the tower badge and one was laden down with various materials such as furniture and other items, he began to head towards it before he spotted the neat sign writing along the side. “Central Prospecting Company” and grimaced slightly. The man and woman on the boat also wore leather jerkins with the CPC logo embroidered onto it and they were checking over their cargo as the group passed.

There were even leaflets on the side of the barge in a small wooden holder.

Amanda peered at it, and picked one up, she idly flipped through it.

“Benefits include a guaranteed customer for all your prospecting picks and rations in beer and food. Secure housing available in large scale zones of Burton-On-Trent and our new site of Derby. Hey, These benefits seem pretty good, how come you don’t work for them when you’re taking us that way?”

Welch pulled a bit of a face. “Well, while they do guarantee themselves as a customer with their company, they pay well under the actual value people will pay for these items when you sell them directly, second they don’t let you keep and sell anything if you happen to know someone who wants it, into the stores it goes and it could be weeks before it gets to the actual shop fronts. The Dukedom’s leadership also creams off anything they want or need without paying a single trip.”

They walked a little further along the jetty before he stopped and pointed back to the barge. “On top of that, there’s little quality control, the electronics they’ve picked up aren’t in any kind of protection, they’ve just haphazardly stripped a couple of houses so the fabrics of the furniture are also just open to the elements. Heck, they’ve clearly just ripped the copper wiring out the walls and thrown that in any old how.” He jostled his bag. “This at least is weatherproof on the inside, so everything I take is protected from that at least. Whatever house they stripped? Will be falling over and no use materials wise in months. Yet most have stood pretty well for 16 years and counting.”

Amanda looked to the barge, then back to Welch. “So, I’m guessing they don’t pick locks either? Just bust the door in to take what’s necessary?”

Welch nodded before spotting a former 14 foot wide passenger boat that was too wide for the old, narrow locks and had been painted what could only, honestly, be described as “violent pink”. An older woman was stood on the tiller of the boat, her hair cleanly washed and tied into a long, silvery pony tail. A red lantern hung from the side of the boat, though it was currently unlit. The large, cursive writing painted along the side in black paint read “Lady Juliana” though it was a little faded in places.

“Why Mr Welch. How good it is to see you again.” The woman smiled brightly as she practically purred speaking to him. She then glanced to Amanda and the other two further down the jetty. Amanda stayed by Welch’s side, while Siobhan and Terry shrank away, instead turning to look at the CPC barge and find its collection of useless household items fascinating. Siobhan hissed for Amanda to come over to her a few times, but when it fell on obviously deaf ears, she gave up with a roll of her eyes.

“Miss Jessica how are you?”

“Business is good when the harvest is coming in.” her smile never waved but her eyes lit up a little more. “So will you and your… young friend be checking in?”

“Checking in?” Amanda looked curiously to Welch who had gone slightly red and shook his head.

“No,no. We are here for the night but… no.” He shot her a slight look which only seemed to amuse her moreso. “I was wondering if you were in the market for some pre-plague booze.”

“Always my dear, helps to loosen people up better than the newer stuff. Though I’ve heard rumour there’s a 12 year old whisky being produced up in Tutbury…”

“Loosen up?” Amanda queried before a soft, constant moaning from one of the opened windows caused the teenager to turn bright red and scurry off to her mother’s side,

Who promptly admonished her with an “I tried to warn you…”

Both Welch and Jessica chuckled.

“Emma’s been pining after you, you know.” Jessica said with another amused smirk as she eyed Welch pulling his bulky backpack off and setting it down.

“I’m sure she’s been pining after the trips more than anything.” Welch replied with a mutter.

“No, you’re one of the few clients who she even sees any more, to the point I’m probably going to let her go.” Jessica shrugged. “Costing too much and she seems enamoured with you, you actually seem to listen to her and give a damn about her problems rather than just finding a warm bed for a night.”


Welch began to place the bottles along the top of the boat and Jessica’s tried to feign disinterest, but a glance from Welch while he was bent down revealed her eyes were darting about at each label every time he bent down to grab another couple. In all he had a dozen such bottles lined up along the top of the boat. Two or three of the same item.

Jessica’s false smile was back and the light in her eyes had vanished. “Alright, how much?”

“I was thinking I can get about 7 each for them.” Welch said with a smile. “Harder to come by these days around here, after all.”

Jessica scoffed. “Seven? Seven!” She shook her head. “That’s a heck of a lot of trips to ask for. I’ll give you three, I am buying in bulk after all.”

Welch shook his head. “three is basically giving it all away, and I think I’ve put enough in your pockets over the years to ask for better. Six.”

“Four.” Jessica shot back.

“Five.” Welch offered his hand outwards.

Jessica glanced at the bottles again, lips pursed then nodded and shook Welch’s hand.

She vanished below decks, opening the door for a moment only for a single, passionate moan to escape into the marina which just caused the two women in the family to blush some more and look about anywhere but the shocking pink boat.

A much younger woman emerged, in her late 20s, she also wore a ponytail, had brown hair and wore a wife beater shirt and rather revealing shorts, she smiled with genuine warmth towards Welch, she held a small, canvas bag which jingled.

“Hey Harry.” She smiled, offered up the bag, and kissed Welch on the cheek. “Please come see me, I’ve been lonely…” She pressed up against him, Welch pulled back a little because of his smell, rather than the perfume and soap smell of hers, she leaned in to whisper. “I wont charge, Jessica doesn’t have to know.” She giggled and bounced away back into the boat.

Welch weighed the bag in his hand and watched Emma vanish back into the vessel with a slight smile. He then turned back to the family who’s older members looked simply horrified.

“Well, come on then. We’ve got to find beds for you lot for the night.”

Welch found them bedding and a meal at the nearby pub, who had a series of rooms built into the upper floor which was all wooden in its construction but with salvaged materials for the beds and bedding.

He also bought them a meal before he headed back out into the collection of jetties and boats in search of some items.

A cream coloured boat was moored up along one of the further out jetties, its engine idling as it had functional electric lighting

The helmsman aboard, with a pair of glasses which magnified his eyes and a long, greying scruffy beard and bald head mostly hidden by his flatcap was checking lightbulbs in a strange array of lightbulb sockets which he had put onto a wooden testing rig, he would screw them in, quickly flick a switch and if they lit up, would carefully put them into a cardboard box, those that didn’t were thrown into an old, plastic dust bin with a crash.

The bin was three quarters full of broken glass and metal while the cardboard box was only about half full.

“J.S Smethwick, Independent Building Salvage ” had been painted on the side of the boat.

“Hello Johnny.” Welch said as he watched the man try another lightbulb and tut before hurling it into the dust bin with a crash and clink of glass.

“W-W-W-Welch.” Johnny replied before fishing yet another bulb.

“Was wondering if you still had some lockpicking tools.”

Johnny stopped what he was doing and turned his watery, magnified eyes to Welch.

“Worn yours out?”

“No, taking on an apprentice.” Welch replied with a shrug.

“Oh, well..” Johnny thought for a moment and ran his fingers through his beard. “Well, I got a s-s-s-starter kit, but they run to a bit of dosh, I’m afraid.” He smiled a cheeky smile. “Can’t have more competition.”

“What’s in the kit?” Welch asked.

“It’s a bergen like yours, picked over a military nuts house a while ago. Lock pick set, new made s-s-stuff, old padlock to practise on, computer parts s-s-satchel like I sold you, sleeping bag, fire starter, compass you can mount on your wrist with a watch, canteen. All in all pretty good stuff, don’t you reckon?”

“That… actually does sound pretty good. What about the price though?”

“45.”

“Jesus, Johnny.” Welch replied. “That’s way too steep.”

“Hard to get that sort of stuff these days without being CPC.” Johnny replied with a shrug. “Smart bastards don't ban any independent scavenging operations, just make it expensive for new ones to rise up among their own so they can slowly gain the monopoly. Not like there’s many warehouses we know of full of lock picking kits.”

“Alright, tell you what.” He set his bergen down and opened it before digging deep, pulling one of the gaming consoles and its wiring out. “If that works, how about doing it for five and the console?”

Johnny drummed his fingers on his test board then nodded and vanished into the depths of his boat, he brought out another bergen like Welch’s then set on his workbench an old flat monitor. He begin swiftly plugging it all in and then pressed the power button.

Nothing.

He turned and looked over his glasses at Welch.

“Try this one.” Welch reached into the bag again and pulled out the first one he’d taken.

Once again, the wiring was swapped over and this time, the gaming console burst into life.

“Any games with ‘em?” Johnny asked.

“Uh…” Welch dug into his bag again and handed the pile of games to Johnny. He looked them over, smiled and then handed the second bergen to Welch without a word.

“Pleasure doing business with you Johnny.” Welch said as he picked up the second bag and began to walk away. Johnny meanwhile, was seemingly picking a game and was lost in a moment of reminiscence as he loaded it into its disk drive.

[darth]

The book itself had a grey cover and printed firmly on the front were the words “Guide to our rebuilding world: River Trent and Tributaries Edition. By J.R Hartley.”


Is there a book on fly fishing too? :-)

[castleman]

Apr 29, 2020 13:18:16 GMT -6 darth said:

The book itself had a grey cover and printed firmly on the front were the words “Guide to our rebuilding world: River Trent and Tributaries Edition. By J.R Hartley.”


Is there a book on fly fishing too? :-)

Maybe... maybe

I love the idea of some eccentric reviving the Hartley name so he can go about incognito like an AA guide author.

Edit: For those not in the know: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/J._R._Hartley

[texican]

CM,

Welch has inherited himself a ready made family.

Flesh out the story with descriptions of Welch and the family.

Thanks for the story.

Texican....

[castleman]

I’d say Welch hasn’t? So far as he’s concerned at the moment they’re just customers he can help ferry back and so hasn’t really paid too much attention bar that of Amanda.

Welch returned to the pub, it’s downstairs interior was that strange mixture of scavenged and newly made furniture and fixtures, its lighting fixtures were a curious mixture of whatever could be found and used, likely with most of the fixtures being sold by Smethwick himself at some point or another. A radio had been plugged in and set to a station which was playing album after album likely on vinyl record from the way the music popped and crackled.

He also realised that he’d not really taken the family in much, they’d paid him, and aside from hearing Amanda’s words in his ear he’d barely looked at them in the past day and a half.

Siohban, who was eating a greasy looking sandwich consisting of sausage and egg rather slowly had green eyes and dirty blonde hair. Her clothing was neat and in the style of the pre-plague, a pair of form fitting trousers which had been patched only once, and her shoes were pre-collapse flats that looked almost new, as if they’d been scavenged. She had that “leanness” that most people in the post-plague world had developed through the lack of food and need to do more physical work. However, Welch suspected that she did some sort of workout that kept her looking younger than she actually was.

Terry was a young man just going through puberty, spots had begun to appear on his face and he would scratch at them every so often, the face was still very boyish. He had a mop of blonde-brown hair and large, brown eyes looked curiously at the fixtures and fittings around them and he seemed to shift uncomfortably on the chair meaning he’d likely picked back and managed a rough hewn one that hadn’t been properly sanded.

He wore an old football T-shirt for a team he’d have never known with a player’s name on his back that was meaningless to him. There were sports teams about after all, people didn’t stop enjoying things and had taught them to the new generation that had come along, but there were no more “professional” sports players any more. It had gone back to as it had been in the 1950s, where they doubled up with an actual job and played it as a secondary thing. He’d managed to find another copy of the guide and was reading another page about the canals and rivers.

Amanda was in her late teens, she looked a lot like her mother, only she was more well endowed, no doubt as the result of a better diet as the post-plague world stabilised and some food became common again, or a life of not as much hard work when most children helped with the harvest. Her bright, green eyes showed she was enjoying her adventure and her blond hair ran down to the middle of her back nearly, in order to keep it from being unruly she’d kept it tied into a ponytail like her mother.

“This bag will keep food for the next couple of days until we reach where we need to.” Welch said as he set the second bag down. He pulled out the lockpicking set and padlock and set them down in front of Amanda. “There, have at it.”

Amanda smiled and began to look at the padlock and then the tools laid out inside the small steel box.

Welch hadn’t seen any of these new kits that Smethwick had mentioned and was surprised to see a small guide printed on the inside of the lid which listed which bit to use on the barrel and which was to find the pins.

With the chattiest member now subdued for a bit, Welch could find out more about the other two.

“So Terry, you like to read?”

“Hrm?” Terry said as he continued to read the passage of the booklet.

“You enjoy reading, kid?” Welch replied and Siobhan nudged Terry to respond. He huffed and rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, I do. I read a lot of books when I get the chance to. We have a lot of books at home.”

“There’s some good public libraries where we’re going.” Welch ventured. “Any particular subject you like?”

Terry shrugged and Welch just smiled a little bit. Kids at that age…

Siobhan put the sandwich down and sighed heavily, her fingers of her right hand rubbing her forehead.

“Something on your mind?” Welch asked as a cup of tea was put before him and he sipped it. They always knew what he ordered here and he barely needed to talk by this point.

“Can we go outside for a minute?” Siobhan asked. “Amanda, keep an eye on your brother please.”

Welch nodded and took his cup with them.

They got outside and Welch took a sip of his tea. It was quiet around the street they were on as most people seemed busy in the marina itself. Siobhan paced a little before turning to Welch.

“I barely know where I am taking my kids, I ran off along the river with you because I was desperate, the civil protection could come down here any minut” She waved her other hand about. “Three days ago I had a stable job and life and now...”

Welch scratched his nose and then sipped his tea again. “Well, why’re they after you? Sounds to me you had a cushy job.”

“Does it matter?”

Welch shrugged. “They’re going to ask you when you get to Tutbury, they’re interested in what’s happening out there. They want to know what skills you got and what info you got to find you and yours a place. No settlement will take in random drifters with no skills after all.”

Siobhan began to pace again. She seemed to be struggling with what to say, or to make something up.

“The administration is collapsing, plain and simple. The farms aren’t producing enough food to support the civil protection and administration officers, so the commissioner’s taken over and ordered all councillors and administrators detained along with their families.”

“Why are the farms collapsing?” Welch took another sip of tea. “I mean, Lincolnshire’s one of the most fertile lands in the country.”

“The pumps are all electric, and don’t have spare parts. This spring the power plant failed for two days and half the country flooded. We lost nearly all our planting time from waterlogged fields.” Siobhan shook her head. “So we cut rations to the civil protection and it seems they didn’t like that, said they were the key workers keeping everyone safe and healthy.”

Welch grumbled a little. If food was collapsing in that area, then whoever the commissioner was would either send people out here to recover food for the area in need, or people would do it naturally anyway. It did not bode well for anyone out here or further along the river. The problem was, how would the people he knew see it if he told them there was the chance of banditry?

“Look, I know people in Tutbury who can probably help, either help organise food or to take people in if they’re fleeing starvation. We’ll get there and talk to them and see what they think. Though I do warn you.. Sometimes the cure is worse than the disease.”

Siobhan nodded. “I know, but people were already going hungry. I can’t let them starve or become thugs.”

Welch finished off his cup of tea and turned to re-enter the pub, only to find Amanda stood there, open padlock in hand rather triumphantly.

“Well.” Welch said glancing down at the padlock, he relocked it. “Now you gotta do it quicker.”

Amanda pouted and then glared at Welch as he walked away chuckling. His own sandwich was waiting for him, a ham and celery on thick bread. He picked it up and crunched into it with relish.

Amanda sat down opposite him and began to fiddle with the lock, while Siobhan returned to her own sandwich and finished it off.

Welch continued to watch Amanda before Siobhan spoke up again.

“Feels like you’ve not shared much Mr Welch. I’ve talked about my past, how about you?”

Welch shook his head while his mouth was full.

“You’ve been… scavenging for a while? I’m guessing?”

“About seven, eight years now? I’ve been wandering back and forth and finding places and items for people. I enjoy moving about during the year, places change a lot during the year.”

“You seem to want to teach too.” Shiobhan nodded to Amanda who triumphantly opened the lock again at that moment, only to have Welch snap it shut again.

“Old impulse.” Welch replied.

“Couldn’t you do something a bit less transient? Teach scavengers how to do things? I mean, you’re older than me, right?” Siobhan asked as she watched Amanda.

Welch nodded. “The independents know what they’re doing, they’re all pre-plague folks like me or you, we know what’s useful, what’s not. It’s the new kids that bother me and all of them are taking the safety of the CPC. They don’t know the world before, or why stuff’s lasted so well.”

“So why not them?” Siobhan asked.

“I was in fact originally a chemistry teacher. Welch wasn’t even my original last name but this overall happened to fit and was hard wearing. Before I knew it people were describing what I wore for people to find me in the days we were setting up. Before long I became known by most across a big area as Welch.”

“You were a teacher? Why’re you out here picking through ruins and pilfering things instead of teaching people your knowledge?” Siobhan looked at him like he was made of every valuable material under the sun.

Welch shrugged, “I had taught most of my knowledge to a couple of people but then there was an incident in which we had a disagreement. Quite a big one. After that I sort of semi-exiled myself, I do this to keep food in my stomach and to help people find stuff they need, nothing more. I have places I can call my home out here, and I have a place to stay in Tutbury when I am there. So living there or at Repton to teach a bunch of kids what not to treat like crap doesn’t really appeal to me.”

“What was the disagreement?” Siobhan leant forward.

“Cure being worse than the disease.” Welch replied and finished his Sandwich off.

[texican]

Yep. Welch has himself a family.

Thanks CM for the chapter.

Texican....

[9idrr]

For some reason, I get the feelin' that Amanda's likely to get a bit too adventurous and attract the wrong kind of attention.

[castleman]

As the day had worn on and meals had been eaten, Welch had availed himself of the public bath house that had become common across much of the countryside. The Japanese style of public bathing had become a regular sight around the region mostly due to the ability to centralise hot water production and to help keep an eye on hygiene. It was yet another “innovation” that had originated within the Dukedom, but had spread as a cultural concept and business opportunity.

Inside were hot showers and baths to be had, and Welch took full advantage of this washing away the better part of a week's sweat and filth, he also took advantage of the barber service offered and got rid of the pointy growth. He even spent time ordering his clothes laundered while he went and enjoyed his shower and bath.

With the sun finally beginning to dip, he spent the night aboard the Lady Julianna, with Emma as he normally did when he was at the marina. Only just like she said, he hadn’t paid a single trip for the privilege.

The morning peeked through the curtains but only just and Welch barely stirred, feeling a hand on his chest instead. He glanced over to see Emma watching him, her bright blue eyes seemed to be watching him intently and she smiled when he woke.

“Good morning.” Welch rumbled quietly.

“Morning Harry.” Emma replied. She fiddled a little with his greying chest hair and seemed to be thinking of how to ask something. “Can you take me with you?”

“You know I have a transient lifestyle.” Welch replied. “I barely spend days in Tutbury any more before I’m out on another scavenge.”

Emma sighed. “I think that wouldn’t be so bad an idea. I’ve refused customers for weeks now, I’m… well.” She placed her head on his chest. “I’m not cut out for this work, don’t think I ever was, you were the only person I felt comfortable with.”

Welch ran a weathered hand down her back and sighed softly. “I do have a place in Tutbury, I guess I could use someone to help carry the load with me.”

Emma nuzzled into him slightly. “So is that a yes?”

Welch noded. “I guess it’s a yes. It’d be nice to have someone at the house if nothing else. You can bring one set of clothing and make sure it’s appropriate for travel.”

Emma jumped up suddenly causing Welch to look to her as she dug into an old backpack, she pulled out a set of canvas overalls. “I managed to get one of these, same as yours, right?” She held it against her nude form and beamed at him.

Welch smiled, it had even been dyed, albeit amateurishly, green the same as his own overalls.

“Pretty close. Yeah.” Welch sat up in the bed and scratched his right armpit. “It might be as lonely there as it was here you know.”

Emma was pulling on the overalls and wiggling her hips to get it up to her shoulders. “I doubt it, I lived here for long enough. Nobody wants to talk to you unless they’re paying you. A fresh start sounds really… nice.”

“Ah so I’m just a way for a new life, huh?” Welch looked to her as she pulled it up. Like Welch, she was thin and wiry, a sign of a lesser diet from having lived through the collapse while growing up.

She showed off her now vanished form in the overalls and twirled around. “I don’t have that much to pack. But I want to be useful, so I can carry anything and you know I’m as good a listener to you as you are to me.”

When they collected their things and headed up onto the deck of the boat they found Jessica stood eyeing them while smoking a pipe.

“So you’re finally freeing up the room for me?” She asked as she took another puff of the thin pipe.

“I am, yeah…” Emma said as she pulled a small backpack onto her shoulders. “Thank you for everything, Jessica.”

She tapped her pipe a little and continued to smoke. “I’m going to miss you being able to do errands for me. I’d say you did good work too but...” She shrugged.

Emma and Jessica shared a smile before she and Welch stepped up onto the jetty.



They headed to the pub and found Siobhan, Amanda and Terry waiting for them outside, they were all drinking from a pot of tea. Siobhan glanced for a moment at Emma and quickly put on a bit of a poker face and poured a couple of cups of tea. Amanda was still fiddling with the padlock and her kit again.

“Oooh, can I have a try?” Emma asked as she slid onto the wooden picnic table bench next to her.

“It’s tricky.” Amanda said as she put it down and slid it over to Emma. “You put the bendy flat bit in and press on it, and then use the pick on the pins.”

“Like this?” Emma fiddled with the lock, feeling it in her fingers and after a few seconds the lock popped open.

Welch glanced at her and Amanda stared in disbelief.

“Oh that is unfair!” Amanda cried out. “How? How!?”

“Uhm, I have kind of sensitive hands, I guess?” Emma ventured. “I can really feel the pins and when they click.”

“Teach me!” Amanda demanded before Emma showed her how. In her impatience, Amanda had been trying to ram the pins in too quickly and too deeply, while Emma’s technique was more nuanced.

“So, what’s everyone’s story?” Emma asked as she took a sip of tea.

Siobhan retold her story that she’d told Welch the day before, to much sympathy from Emma.

“So, uh, how about you? How did you come to wind up working… there?” Siobhan finally asked.

Emma took a longer sip as she gathered her thoughts. “Well, I was orphaned like a lot of folks by the Blue Plague and kind of drifted here and there trying to find a purpose. I worked as a farm hand for a while, in a workshop or two. I came to the Lady Julianna two years ago and Jessica asked for me to help her run errands at first, then pointed out how much more money and barter I could earn and…” She shrugged. “Then I met Harry, and I really don’t want to do things like that any more.”

“So you plan to scavenge like him?” Siobhan tilted her head. “I mean you’re dressed the same.”


“I guess so?” Emma shrugged. “I mean he’s been out here on his own for so long, someone should watch his back who cares about him.”

“I also did some thinking, Siobhan, if you want to settle, I have a house in Tutbury. I need someone to sort through the contracts quickly. You have admin experience after all.”

Siobhan nodded. “I’ll think about it, it’d be good to have something lined up. Goodness knows what these people of yours would do.”

Welch finished his cup of tea. “Right, with that, we’d best get to the boats before they leave, don’t you reckon?”

Amanda clicked the padlock open and smiled.

The group rejoined the boat and butte and due to the extra people now joining them spread out a bit more. Amanda, Emma and Welch on the bow of the butte, while Siobhan, Terry and the Helmsman remained on the stern.



The day was turning into another pleasant one with warmth of the sun having quickly burnt off the fog. Fields now falling more fallow and overgrown on the northern bank, the southern was covered in a single row of trees before giving way to several lakes, all of which were in use for capturing fish and keeping the stocks held decently to ensure fish could be enjoyed this far inland with no regular shipments from the coast.

To their right, the river split off, another river snaking away, the Derwent. The Trent they were already on flung suddenly to the left and directly ahead of them was a new, arrow straight channel belying its man made nature despite all the greenery either side.

The old man lowered the engine’s beat a little as he guided the two boats into the channel and gunned the engine again, creating a tiny wake that spread across the whole of the canal.

“Shardlow, then Walton, Swarkstone, Barrow, Stenson, and finally Willington.” Welch called back so everyone could hear.

“I can’t believe there’s so many villages occupied along here.” Siobhan called back. “Administration works on a town supporting many farms, keeps people safer.”

“And easier to control, not like that out here.” Welch called back. “It’s more spread out as people submit their claims, or just outright start farming in fallow areas.” He laughed. “It was a mess in the early days, keen amateur gardeners who’d grown a patch of peas on an allotment or in their gardens trying to run a whole farm.”

“We had some agricultural college kids, thankfully.” Siobhan called back. “They helped us adapt to a lot of the problems we were facing.”

Welch nodded.

Shardlow too once boasted three marinas to tie up pleasure craft. Before the plague demand to use the waterways had spiked enormously, but now, with the traffic much lighter, those marinas had been left to silt up and their boats cannibalised or converted. Instead, the warehouses and other buildings on the waterfront had returned to their original purpose after conversion to homes, holding goods and crops until they could be shipped off by the canal towards Willington, and eventually, by rail to Tutbury.

Indeed, among some who might mutter in dark corners of pubs it felt like the people out here were simply feeding a never sated beast, and perhaps going it alone and creating less dependence on the town would be an idea.

On the other hand, the people who remember taxes on everything, preferred the way the Dukedom did things, and they did provide protection, community and a sense of purpose beyond simple “survival”. Every so often there’d be a traveller from somewhere or other who’s own area was sliding back to almost medieval levels of subsidence farming and civilisation if they were lucky. They frequently didn’t go back, or if they did it was to bring more in to feed the machine.

Welch looked at the pretty village as they passed under a bridge and frowned. It was too quiet, there should be carts, vehicles puttering about, boats especially, but no. The barge rounded the bend in the canal and continued, even as the bargeman cut back the engine and began looking around himself. Plenty of boats and carts were in evidence, but no horses, and canal boats were either half emptied or still clearly full of cargo.

They passed under the wide road bridge without incident and the pilot turned the engine off to let the boat drift towards the lock, which remained stubbornly shut and no lock keeper in evidence.

Welch stood up fully and looked to the Northern bank, where once there had been a car park had been replaced with low brick warehouses and there again, evidence of work only half done.

The old man pulled the barge over to the southern bank and waved for Welch to join him.

“You help me with this damn lock, if they don’t want to open the damn thing and get paid then sod ‘em.” He shuffled towards the lock gates and Welch followed, while his son the Helmsman moved to pilot the forward barge, giving Siobhan a quick rundown on how to pilot the butte when they’d have to move it by hand shortly as like elsewhere, there were no horses in evidence to pull the butte into the lock either.

Amanda had joined them for a curious look too, as she’d seen the lock process before, but felt she could help. This soon meant Emma had joined them too, letting her stretch her legs for a bit.

Welch rubbed his chin, then walked across the narrow boards over the lock gate tops to cross to the northern bank. He began to lean on the gate to open it, along with the old man when a voice called to him from a nearby window.

“That’s enough.”

Welch looked up only to see the two, dark steel barrels of a shotgun pointed his way, across the canal from the other cottages was a crossbow and a revolver rifle sticking out.

Another figure emerged from the doorway of the cottage, he wore a mixture of clothing, most of it pre-plague bar the pig leather waistcoat. His hair was shaved to his skull giving him a sickly, leering look and when he smiled it revealed missing, rotting teeth from a poor diet. A logo had been embroidered onto his jacket, but Welch did not recognise it. In his hands however, he did recognise the post-plague smithed sword, made out of steel with a rebar crossguard.

“You’re all coming with us.” He said with his tooth gapped smile.

Welch raised his hands and looked back to the Southern Bank.

Emma and Amanda had vanished without a trace as a couple of thugs emerged from the southern cottages.

“Rich! Rich two of em legged it!” One of the thugs, a woman with similarly shaved hair called across.

Rich looked at her for a moment, blinked and then looked furious. “Well stop bloody standing there and run after them!” He shook his head as the two on the southern bank ran up the road opposite.

“Finch, train your rifle on the rest, shoot any more that runs, there’s a good boy.” Rich called up to the window above him and the long barrel poking from the window above moved upwards from Welch towards Siobhan and Terry, who she shielded with a slight shriek. “As for you lot, across the lock gate, now.”

Another figure emerged from the house, a young looking man carrying a crossbow, he crossed the canal via the lock gate and checked the butte, hurrying the Helsman, Siobhan and Terry along the Canal bank towards the gate again. He then took a quick rummage in the living cabin of the Butte to the annoyance of the Helsman, especially when he emerged with a canvas sack filled with food, and his over-under shotgun, with a short barrel slung over his shoulder.

Welch sighed heavily, and hoped that Emma and Amanda would be alright.

[texican]

Robbers at the lock. Now where are the Duke's law enforcers?

Welch gathering info to be free.

What will Welch do with two women?

Thanks CM for the chapter.

Texican....

[9idrr]

Go ahead, leave us hangin'...

[castleman]

Amanda and Emma fled along the Canal Bank road, it was metalled like most still in use roads around but had been patched in places with rock and other hardcore, the only problem was, the road was straight as an arrow and so they could hear the shouting as Emma grabbed Amanda by the bergen and pulled her between two cottages where some overgrown bushes were, they crashed through them before nearly falling into the river. It ran wide and lazy, and the nearest bank had been left for reeds to grow and a willow tree to dip low by the riverside.

They crashed briefly through the reeds before Emma pulled Amanda into the long, sagging branches of the Willow tree, she put her finger to her lips to the younger woman and waited for the panting young girl to nod before she moved slightly to the edge.

It was an older willow tree gnarled and bent with thick leaf covered branches providing perfect cover.

They heard the thudding on the roadway above them and Amanda crouched down further.

“Check left, I’ll check right!” A voice called before the footsteps faded.

Emma sighed and sat down with Amanda who was still breathing rapidly.

“Oh god, what do we do? Aren’t there settlement guards here?” Amanda continued to breathe rapidly and pulled the bergen off of her shoulders to sit more comfortably.

Emma turned from her looking point and rushed to Amanda’s side. “Deep breaths, ok? Deep breaths. We got to stay quiet for a minute, ok?”

Amanda nodded and took a few deep, sobbing breaths before she calmed down and nodded to Emma who continued to hold her by the shoulders.

“So, yes, there are settlement guards here, they’re called bluecoats, you can guess why. But you saw those guys, right? They probably captured them, or… well.” Emma bit her finger in thought. “We need to see where they take Harry and the others. Then think of a plan.”

“Shouldn’t we just go get help?” Amanda asked looking at the branches and standing up, brushing her trousers down.

“We can’t without knowing they’re at least captured.” Emma said and shivered a little. “I only just got a shot at this new life, I am not letting him welch out on his responsibilities.”

Amanda laughed a little and Emma smiled back.

“Take your lockpick stuff with you, there might be need for it, but leave the backpack behind.” Emma said nodding to her bergen which had been left propped up by the trunk of the willow tree.

Amanda nodded and opened the case, taking the small steel case and looking at her clothing, her trousers hardly had any pockets and was nowhere near as useful as Emma’s overalls.

“I don’t have anywhere to put the tin?” Amanda said looking to Emma. She rolled her eyes and then grabbed the tin, pulled the top of Amanda’s shirt open a bit and stuck the cold steel box against her left breast tucked between the bra and herself. Amanda yelped a little and looked at Emma with shock.

“Ok, follow me and keep low.” Emma crouched a little and pushed the branches out of the way, with Amanda carefully following behind.

========

Welch kept his hands up and looked around him as they walked from the Warehouses across onto Wharf road, they were being escorted by four of the pig leather jackets, all of whom had shaved heads. He’d seen thugs before, but the fact they had a logo too, either meant they were a gang turned feral, or…

“Unusual to see mercenaries occupying towns.” Welch ventured.

“Pay’s good.” The crossbow thug replied with a similarly toothless smile.

“You guys did do your research before coming here, right?” Welch carried on despite the jab. “You know who owns this place?”

“Farmers, fools and idiots with boats.” The crossbow thug shrugged and had both his own weapon and the shortened shotgun in his hands, he slung the crossbow onto his back and checked the shotgun over, cracking it open and checking the shells before snapping it shut again. His own clothes were a nearly new tracksuit that hadn’t even got much in the way of filth and dirt on it.

“So you’ve not heard of the Dukedom? The Drake Hall Massacre?”

“That’s miles from here, bullshit.” The Crossbow thug shook his head. “I bet they claim everywhere, like the Emergency Administration.”

“Alright.” Welch said with a shrug. “If you say so.”

“No discussing the job with outsiders.” Rich, the only one identified along with the unseen Finch with a name jabbed Welch with the hilt of his sword. “And you, keep your mouth shut if you know what’s good for you.”

Welch nodded.

They were forced to walk down the whole road and passed various terraced homes that faced away from the canal and the wharfside until they reached a fork in the road. It split either side of a village green which was covered in trees.

Siobhan shrieked when she saw the two, Indigo clad bodies hanging from the trees.


“That’s why you shut up and do as you’re told.” Rich sneered as they walked under the bodies and onto the green towards the brick built building ahead of them. It was once used as the village hall, but as time had worn away at the pre-plague matters it had become the main civic hub for the village itself, and was the place to go if you had an issue be it civic or law, and was where the bluecoats were usually stationed. Instead, another pair of thugs stood in front of the doors, both armed with revolver rifles.

“It’s like the easiest payday we’ve ever had, this.” One of the thugs at the door said with a nod. “What did this lot have with them? Fuel? Booze?”

“Ganjaaa.” The Crossbow thug laughed. “Piles n piles of it!”

“S’only hemp.” The old helmsman said with a gruff rumble to his voice.

“Bullshit bro, you lot been moving the best stuff around!” Crossbow laughed “Bet you take some of it for yourself don’t you, eh?”

“Shut yer traps.” Rich barked before nodding to the others to open the doors.

The brown wooden doors had some glass squares along its very top. One had clearly been shot out at some point and they opened swiftly to reveal the townsfolk and various annoyed looking boatmen inside. Most had been beaten, battered or were bruised. Several sported cuts that had been hastily bandaged with ripped clothing.

Siobhan looked horrified and stunned before she felt the barrel of a shotgun shoved into her back, she squeaked and tensed up before heading inside along with the others.

The room itself was plainly done, with it normally being reserved as an open space, the cubicle walls that had been put in during its conversion to the heart of government for the town had all been shoved to the sides and the plain white walls. The windows at the very back had all been hastily boarded up to prevent escape, with only one half open in the kitchen area where yet more people had been crammed in.

Welch looked around as they were regarded by wild, confused eyes. Some looked resigned to their fate and utterly despondent. Siobhan and Terry shrank away into a corner, and the Helmsman and his father went towards some of their own friends and began talking rapidly, gesturing and shaking their heads.

The doors slammed shut behind them and he could hear the click of a lock.

Welch stood near to Siobhan and Terry, he folded his arms and leant against the wall. He needed to think.

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

Emma moved slowly up the river bank and lay down when she reached the edge, Amanda did the same and they both looked carefully up to the road and bridge. They could see the group being walked across the other side of the bank, a lone thug stood on the bridge, armed with a shotgun, watching the road.

“Ok, so.” Emma thought for a moment. “Amanda, you’ve got to go find where they’re keeping them, ok?”

“What? Why me?” Amanda whispered looking at Emma.The other woman was pulling on her calves a little in her prone state.

“Because I can run quicker.” Emma replied. “I’ll distract him, you get across the bridge, then stay out of sight and follow them, ok?”

“I, but-” Amanda began.

“We’ll meet back under the willow tree, got it? Good luck.”

And with that, Emma raised herself up to the road level and sprinted across the road and down a street opposite, ducking between a former pub and a large, rather ornate looking home with a portico front, she then grabbed the top of a wall and pulled herself over into the garden of said house.

There was a shout from the bridge and the thug ran after Emma, yelling for help as he did so.

Amanda watched him vanish down the roadway, named Wilne lane by a single sign still standing, the same way Emma had and quickly got up and jogged over the bridge, it felt wide and like it was taking an eternity, like she could feel unseen eyes leering at her. She rounded the corner onto the wharf street and then stopped, she could see their backs, looking quickly she saw a small alleyway, wide enough for a car and ran quickly down it. She felt her breath coming in ragged heaves before she reached the end of the row of terraced houses and peeked around the corner.

“You guys did do your research before coming here, right?” Welch’s voice carried through the warm summer air. “You know who owns this place?”

“Farmers, fools and idiots with boats.”

She watched the group cross the roadway in front of her, before she quickly crossed behind them and kept the next row of houses between them and her. The only problem now was the homes bent away from the road she was following. Quickening her pace a little, she saw where a low wooden fence had been erected around a small car park for the building she was behind. She grabbed hold of the top and pulled herself up and over it with a quiet groan and some muttered choice words.

She walked carefully under the low archway that split up what had been a block of flats, likely still occupied in normal circumstances and looked out onto the pleasant green area.

She saw the hanging, indigo clad bodies and vomited. A crow had flown down and was pecking at the blue face of one of the hanging men.

Wiping her mouth and desperately trying to ignore the two hanging figures, she looked through the trees to see her mother and the others being herded into the building. With two guards on the front, and the other three now walking back she ducked back behind.

“Gunna have me a smoke of some of that stuff of theirs.” Crossbow thug laughed.

“Greg, shut up. It’s hemp, it’s always hemp. These weirdos seem stupidly squeamish and don’t smoke but have enough booze lying around to destroy livers.” A female voice replied. “Besides, we got those other two to capture.”

“They both looked like they’d make good bae’s didn’t they Jennie-girl?” Greg replied, coming to a stop and turning to the woman and smiling. “The one with the blonde hair had a pair on her didn’t she?”

“The blonde one looked lazy as f***,” Jennie replied. “Can’t have done any work in her life if she’s got that crap to haul around.”


“Ohhh, someone’s jealo-” There was a loud thud and a cry of pain.

“Shut up, and let’s get back to actually finding them, then you can whinge to her all day, got it?”

“Oh it won’t be talking we’ll be doing.” Greg laughed. “Nor the brunette if we find her.”

Amanda shuddered and shrank back further into the courtyard, she then looked around and climbed back over the fence, taking a moment to crouch down and catch her breath. The building they’d put the others in was in nearly open ground, with only a few trees in the way.

She bit her lip in thought and found herself almost wandering aimlessly along the remainder of the road and found herself faced with a warehouse.

Maybe there was something stored in there that could help.

She carefully looked around to see if anyone was watching and crossed the open space that normally would be filled with carts to the door, she pushed on it.

It was locked.

Amanda took a deep breath and pulled the now warmed steel case from her bra and opened it.

“Ok, you can do this, you can do this…” she muttered to herself and began fiddling with the lock.

She could hear and feel the pins clicking as she moved the pick up and down slightly, she kept the pressure on the barrel and felt a bead of sweat roll down her cheek.

“Rich is asking everyone to spread out and check more of the village, they can’t have gotten far. Everything’s locked up tight.” A voice carried through the air, off to her left and Amanda found herself moving quicker.

The lock clicked and finally gave way and she pulled open the door, ducked inside and pulled it firmly shut behind her just as another member of the gang rounded the corner and looked around the yard. Amanda pressed her back to the door and listened.

“Does it really matter if a couple of people escape? Look at all the stuff we’ve got.” A voice replied.

“Client’s orders according to Rich.” The first voice rejoined. “Nobody lets the news get up the canal for another day or so. Not sure why.”

“Who the heck is asking for such weirdly specific contracts? Normally it’s to guard this, help my caravan from wild animals and bandits that. Here we’re taking over a town, looting it and then, what? No escapees?”

“All I know is we keep all the loot and get paid on top of it.” The first voice said with a weary tone. “Let's just try and find them, yeah? I heard the blonde’s got a nice pair, that should cheer us right up. Wonder if they’ll count as loot?”

The two voices laughed and faded away.

Amanda slid down the door and let out a shuddering breath she didn’t realise she’d been holding. Welch and her family were only a short distance away, but how was she to get closer?

After a minute or two to calm herself down again, she rose to her feet and began to look around the warehouse. Most things were in wooden crates, but some had been opened. A crowbar lay propped against one such open box, with a lightly coloured linen waistcoat thrown on top of the crate, obviously discarded by a worker who’d become too hot. It was almost the same colour as the ones the thugs were wearing. She pulled it on and found it had decent pockets, she stuck her hands in them for comfort, then put her lockpicking kit inside.

She picked up the crowbar and held it in her hands, then turned it over, if she held it by the bent end and cradled the metal shaft, it would look like a gun from a distance, right? The only problem she now had was most of them were bald, and she obviously was not. Looking around the warehouse some more, she saw a small office up a flight of wooden stairs. She walked up to it, and peered into the office. The room was filled with a weird mixture of salvaged office supplies and furniture and more modern wooden and metal fittings, a wheely chair was pushed up against a desk and papers, pens and other paraphernalia had been spread about.

She sighed and looked at the desks and then at the wall she’d come through the door. There, hanging on a hook was a wide brimmed felt hat. She put the hat on and looked at her dull reflection in the mirror and shook her head, she was still too obvious. Looking at the office, a pile of letters had been put onto a desk and done up with twine, she pulled that off and then did her hair up into a high bun. Putting the hat back on, she checked herself in the reflection again. She didn’t look bald, but if she kept her distance her thinner, fainter blonde hair at least made her look kind of like them.

From a distance. Definitely.

“I’m going to get myself killed, aren’t I?” She muttered to her reflection.

She took another deep breath and walked back down the stairs and headed for the door.

Amanda had a plan.

Sort of.