They had bypassed Leicester and Burton and were working their way across country south of Uttoxeter, heading for the more open lands of the Welsh border. The going had been rough this particular day with many diversions and back-trackings because of fissures, and when in the evening they saw a likely looking field with a stream and a copse that promised firewood, they were glad to stop. A horse-caravan was there already and as usual Philip rode up to it a little ahead of the wagon to make sure that the people were friendly.
A man was building a camp-fire near the caravan, and as Philip approached a woman and a small boy disappeared into the caravan with the signs of caution which Philip had learned to recognize. The man, who was about his own age, watched him warily but after the habitual tentative exchange of greetings apparently decided he was not dangerous. Very soon the wagon was parked beside the caravan, the women and children were making friends and Philip was helping the man to get the fire going.
They introduced themselves as Jack and Sue Ramsay and their eight-year-old son Clive. They had lived in Uttoxeter, which was completely destroyed, they said. After the earthquake, they had fled by car, but had only gone a few kilometres when it broke a half-shaft. They had been determined to remain mobile, and all petrol would have vanished within a few days; so they had, like Philip's group, salvaged a horse and cart. Only more ambitiously and ingeniously they had then hunted for an abandoned caravan trailer which they had managed to roll on to the flat top of the cart, j
ack
up to remove its wheels, lower on to the cart and lash in place to make a very serviceable horse-caravan.
'Only snag is, it's a bit longer than the cart-top,' Jack said. 'So the driver has to ride the horse. Ever tried that, between shafts? But we manage.'
'It's a marvellous job,' Betty said. 'Much better than our covered wagon thing.'
They cooked a communal meal of rabbit-and-vegetable casserole. Philip had shot the rabbits that morning and although they were a brace of big ones they did not supply much meat for eight people. But to the Ramsays any meat was a luxury; they had no gun, and admitted
they had not yet mastered the art
of snaring. They had caught the occasional chicken but by now almost all stray poultry had either been killed by hungry refugees or rounded up and jealously guarded by static families or communities.
'How did you live through the Madness?' Philip asked.
'Oh, God, don't ask. We found a good solid barn and turned it into a ruddy fortress. Every time I went out for vegetables, I wondered if I'd make it back.' He shuddered. 'I had to kill two of them. I carried a bottle of ammonia in my pocket, to chuck in their eyes and an axe to finish 'em off. Thank Christ
that's
over - poor bastards. They were just the same as the rest of us. Only unlucky.'
They were all silent for a moment, remembering. Then Sue said, unexpectedly: 'I wish we
could
say it's over.'
'Oh, it's not too bad now,' Philip said. 'Since the raid that drove us out, we've covered a good hundred kilometres and we've met no more actual violence. We were shot at in Market Harborough but only to warn us off, I think. Compared with the Madness, that's nothing.'
'Then if you don't want to see more violence, you'd better do what we're doing in the morning - get out of here. As far as you can from this area.'
'Why? What's happening?'
Sue's next remark was even more unexpected. 'Are you witches?'
'No, we're not,' Philip told her. 'But we're not against them either. And we think the witch-hunt's barbaric'
'Good. Because we
are
witches. . . . Ever heard of the Crane Mob?' 'Don't think so. Who are they?'
'A gang of organized witch-hunters. Witch-killers. Their base is about fifteen kilometres east of here, a big old manor house. Somebody's keeping them in petrol. There are six of them, all with motor-bikes and guns. Sometimes they bring a van with them, to take away any useful loot when they've finished. . . . They had been working east and south, pouncing on witch families and wiping them out. But in the last day or two we've heard they're raiding this way. So we're moving.'
'Point is, we're known around here,' Jack said. 'We ran a coven in Uttoxeter before the trouble, and everyone knows our faces. On top of which, that caravan's pretty well unique - recognizable from kilometres away. And yesterday a friend tipped us off we're on the Crane Mob's list. We haven't a gun, so we'd be sitting ducks. We're leaving at first light, travelling west. Out of the Mob's territory. And if I were you, I'd do the same. Our site may be known and the Mob isn't fussy. They might knock you off just in case you were friends of ours.'
Betty murmured in Philip's ear: 'Let's join forces.'
'Good idea,' Philip, said. 'Look, Jack - we're heading west, too. And we
have
got guns - three rifles, a four-ten shotgun and two pistols.
And
a spare horse, as outrider. Why don't we stick together? We'd be stronger
..."
He grinned. 'The kids'd be company for each other, too.'
Sue's face lit up. 'Not to mention the grown-ups and the horses. How about it, Jack?'
'I feel better already,' Jack said.
They had worked very carefully on the listening-holes. Wally's bedroom (which was also, like it or not, Kathy's) and Beaver's (Doreen's) were immediately above the big sitting-room where the men always gathered in the evening. Loosening a floorboard in each, which could be hidden by rugs, was not difficult and since the sitting-room ceiling was richly moulded, the little holes they cut in the plaster under the loosened boards were practically invisible even if you knew where to look.
Doree
n and Kathy had made the listening-holes while the men were out on raids. They went raiding two or three times a week and to begin with they had always taken one of the 'wives', as they called them, locked in the van as a hostage for the good behaviour of the five left behind -and had also taken all the spare firearms and ammunition (of which they seemed to have plenty) stored in the cab of the van. But after the first week, though the weapons still remained in the van, Wally decided that the hostage was an unnecessary encumbrance. The girls had no transport and nowhere to run, and the locals, well enough aware of the conditional nature of their immunity, would have been quick to inform on the direction the girls had taken if they did try to run.
Besides, Doreen's policy of apparent submission was working. Though it was horribly difficult, the other girls had seen the sense of it and had pinned their hopes on Doreen's leadership. Doll-like Helen, as Doreen had foreseen, was unable to control her sporadic outbursts of temper but ironically they had merely resulted in the other men teasing Jake about being hen-pecked. Thirteen-year-old Muriel had an unexpected reprieve - for Fatso proved to be impotent. Advised by Doreen, she was careful to give no hint of this to the other men while the other girls were equally careful to give no sign that she had told them. Fatso, terrified of ridicule, was grateful for her silence and anxious not to provoke her into breaking it; so she did not manage too badly. Gina and Miriam had not been virgins, which made their ordeal a little less traumatic; Gina, too, was helped by her bovine resilience, and Miriam by the dedicated hatred which she shared with Doreen and Kathy.
They lulled the men further by efficient housekeeping, to which the Mob were not accustomed; and Gina and Helen were excellent cooks.
Eavesdropping on the Mob's plans, once the listening-holes were made, was simplicity itself. When Wally wanted to brief his men on the next day's operation, he dismissed the girls from the sitting-room. It was then natural and unsuspicious for Doreen or Kathy or both to go to their bedrooms. They preferred to have two listeners; it made for more accurate and comprehensive reporting.
The night that Wally planned the raid on the Ramsays, Doreen and Kathy were both at their listening-posts.
'Jake, you've recced the ground,' they heard Wally say. 'Let's have your report.'
'The site's fourteen and a half kilometres from here,' Jake replied. 'No occupied houses within a kilometre of it. You can't mistake their caravan - it's a car-trailer one lashed on to a flat-topped farm cart. The field's triangular, with a river along two sides and a small wood along the third. The road runs behind the wood. If we come at them through the trees, we've got 'em trapped. The stream looks too deep to wade and anyway we could pick 'em off while they were trying.'
'Any firearms?'
'I couldn't see - but they might have 'em hidden. Our contact didn't think so.'
Wally considered for a moment, and then asked: 'Any gradient on the road?'
'Enough to coast the bikes for the last kilometre to the wood. But not for the van, I'd say. She doesn't coast easy, that thing.'
'She's noisy, too. . . . Right, then, we'll do it the simple way. Beaver, you'll take the van, leaving here five minutes after us. We'll go ahead with the bikes, quietly for the last couple of kilometres to the top of the hill, then coast. We'll take up our positions in the wood. When we hear the van coming down the hill, we attack. If the noise brings them out to look, so much the better; we pick them off at a distance. . . . How far's the caravan from the edge of the wood?'
'Eighty metres. Hundred, maybe.' . 'Just right. And how wide's the wood, between the road and the field?'
'Fifty metres, say. Easy to move through but plenty of cover.'
'Good. . . . Now remember, everybody - this is a quick kill. No hanging about, no "trials", no lectures. There's no point, because there's no audience. Only the two of them and the kid, so we kill 'em on sight. Lay out the bodies where they can be seen. As soon as we've got 'em, I'll blow my whistle and Beaver will bring the van round. Loot what we need, fire the caravan and leave. The shooting will bring snoopers when it's all quiet and the message will get around. The Ramsays are known as witches. Their bodies will
be
our lecture. Any questions?'
Garry asked: 'What if others have joined them, since Jake did his recce?'
'The plan's the same. Get them too. Guilt by association.'
'What about the horse?'
'Shoot it. . . . Anything else?' Nobody spoke, so Wally went on: 'Give the girls a yell. I want a drink.'
Quickly, Doreen and Kathy replaced their floorboards and rugs.
Later, when they and Miriam were alone together washing-up, Doreen said: 'This is it, I think. It'll be the first time the van's left after the others. Now here's what we'll do...'
It was hardly surprising, when the girls served breakfast an hour before dawn, that Beaver was still a little besotted with his 'wife'. She had given him astonishing cause to when they went to bed, playing on everything she had learned about him till he fell asleep in an erotic daze. She was still giving him meaningful glances as he ate his breakfast and Beaver glowed. That was women for you. Show 'em who's boss and before you know where you are they're begging for it.
As the bikes left, all the 'wives' were out there to see them off. Doreen chatted with Beaver while he timed his five minutes, and when he said it was time to go, she put her arms round his neck, said 'Good luck, Beaver' and kissed him powerfully.
His grunt of pleasure changed to a brief scream as the well-honed kitchen-knives were driven into his back by Kathy and Miriam. Then he was dead.
It took less than a minute to distribute the arms and ammunition from the cab. Doreen, Kathy and Miriam were the only ones with knowledge of firearms, so Doreen drove with Kathy beside her, while Miriam rode in the back with the other three, teaching them all she could about loading and firing in the quarter-hour they had available. Kathy navigated from the marked map Beaver had 'prepared.
'I just hope nothing holds them up,' Kathy said. 'We don't want to overtake them on the road.'
'When Wally plans an operation,' Doreen told her, 'that's the way the operation goes. Only this time, he doesn't know about
us.'
Jack and Philip were backing the horses into the shafts as the sun cleared the eastern horizon; apart from that, everything was ready to move. Philip had allocated rifles to Jack, himself, and Tonia who was the best shot of them all, and pistols to Betty and Sue. Until they were well clear of the Mob's area, each of them was to keep his or her weapon ready to hand. The three children had been given clear instructions; at the first sign of danger, they were to shelter among the piled bedding in the covered wagon and keep low. They had accepted the drill, though Finola was furious at not being given the shotgun.
Jack's harnessing was finished first and he crossed over to help Philip.
'Healthy-looking old mare, your Bunty,' Jack said. 'She's in as good shape as our Viscount, even though he's younger.'
'Not bad,' Philip agreed. 'I think she
..."
He broke off, cocking his head. 'Did you hear something?'