young and old and children . . . all of them so vulnerable. She couldn’t bring herself to visualise what this place, their home, would become once those boys came across; a charnel house of raped and broken female bodies, and those thugs dancing like wild savages around them. And, yes, there’d be an element of revenge to whatever those boys did to them; revenge for their fallen comrades - in their minds it would justify doing just about anything they wanted to them, wouldn’t it?
She shuddered at the thought. Five, nearly six years of endless grinding effort to build this safe haven, only to have it picked apart by a feral gang of boys . . . just for the fun of it.
No. I’m not having it.
She gritted her teeth and turned to face the people nearby, faces full of hope that she had an answer, a plan. Something up her sleeve.
‘I’m not surrendering,’ she said. Whispers rippled and spread amongst them. She saw them stir, shoulders slump with despair. She decided if her tenure as their community leader was finally at an end, then her last leadership decision wasn’t going to be to surrender her people to whatever entertainment those little bastards had in mind. ‘We can’t let them over here,’ she announced to them. ‘There’ll be raping . . . and worse. We can’t let them over. We have to fight.’
She turned back to Adam. ‘Let’s give them all we’ve got left when they cross.’
Adam nodded. ‘That’s the plan.’
Maxwell could see the boys had had enough. This wasn’t the pushover they’d been promised. To be honest, this wasn’t the pushover he’d hoped for either. He’d expected nothing more than several hundred wobbly-kneed women fool enough to welcome them aboard and offer their complete submission at the first sight of a gun.
He looked at the boys, many of them spattered with blood, some of it their own. A headcount showed about twenty of the praetorians were down; most of them dead, a couple of the wounded probably weren’t going to last the night, their pitiful cries weren’t helping morale at all.
He’d sent Jeff to pilot the tug back to where the barges were moored at Bracton and then to tow them back over to the rigs. There were supplies aboard for the boys. Food and water and a few more crates of that cheap booze to get them back into the mood for the final push.
A top up of vodka and adrenalin . . . that’s what they needed now.
Several hours ago ashore at Bracton he’d had them roaring with excitement, jumping up and down like over-sugared birthday boys on their way to a Laser Quest party; convinced they were invincible and everyone was going to get as much sex as they wanted tonight.
In truth, a break for several hours was no bad idea. Those people across the way weren’t going anywhere, and given enough time to mull over their predicament, they might just decide they’d had enough and wave a white flag.
He gave Snoop orders to set a dozen lads on watch over the walkway, the others could get whatever rest they could. He handed out cigarettes to them all, with a word of encouragement to the youngest lads, and for the older boys, whose eyes betrayed the beginnings of distrust, he reassured them that tomorrow, after they’d tidied up the mess, fixed whatever damage had been done, and the barge with their girlfriends and games consoles had been unloaded, they were going to have one hell of a party; lights, music, games . . . and plenty more ladies to choose from.
Finally, he sat down with his back against one of the deck lockers, suddenly feeling like he’d run a marathon over the last twenty minutes.
Tomorrow morning, dawn . . . as soon as it was light enough, Maxwell decided. If they’d not waved a white flag, he’d better get out there and sort this out himself.
I’ll parley. Talk those bitches into surrendering.
At the very least it was another chance to show his little soldier boys just who was in charge. Not Edward Snoop Tindall, but him, The Chief . . . the fella responsible for feeding them all this time, handing out the booze, the fags, finding the means and ways so they could enjoy their privileges; the fella who kept Safety Zone 4 going ten years after every other one had gone belly-up.
I’ll show them. I’ll sort it.
Chapter 85
10 years AC
‘LeMan 49/25a’ - ClarenCo