The Texts Of Festival (20 page)

They were at the edge of the town and the tree was in sight when Elly-May felt Anna clutch at her arm.

‘Whassamatta?’

Anna hissed her into silence and drew her down into the shadow of a tent. Silently Anna pointed and Elly-May saw two outlaws, obviously guards making their rounds, about to cross the space between them and the highway.

Scarcely daring to breathe, the two women crouched in the darkness, waiting for the guards to pass. They strolled closer and closer, and Elly-May was positive that they would hear her heart beating.

Not more than three paces from where the women lay, the two outlaws halted. There was a spark, a small flame and then a red glow as one of them lit a pipe. Elly-May could clearly hear every word of their conversation.

‘Bad luck to draw camp guard while Festival falls.’

‘Worse’n bad luck.’

‘Aye. All tha’ lootin’ an’ the women.’

The one with the pipe spat and passed it to his companion. Elly-May could see the pipe bowl glow bright as he inhaled. Then to her relief they started to walk on.

As soon as the outlaws were out of sight, the two women scrambled from their hiding place and dashed, barefoot, across the highway. After some fumbling in the dark they located their hidden bundles and quickly pulled on the leather tunics and sandals that they had stolen. Then, slinging the bags of food over their shoulders, they started down the highway, away from Afghan Promise, away from Festival and away from Iggy and his outlaw horde.

Winston looked around at the gathering dust and spurred his horse to catch up with Iggy at the head of the column. ‘We gonna stop for the night? It’s gonna be hard to see soonly.’

Iggy looked round at him as though Winston’s voice had startled him out of deep, private thoughts.

‘Wha’?’

‘I said are we gonna pull up f’ the night, it’s gonna be dark soon.’

Iggy thought for a moment.

‘Nah, march all night, that way we make Festival by mornin’.’

‘We better make some kinda stop for eats.’

‘Yeah, send out a coupla boys to scout out a place to stop. We’ll take maybe two hours to rest, then move again. Okay?’

Winston looked dubious.

Don’tcha think it’s a mistake marchin’ after dark?’

‘We’ll issue torches; nobody’s gonna get lost.’

‘I didn’ mean that, I was jus’ thinkin’ ’bout how we gonna arrive at Festival wi’ the men like dog tired.’

Iggy grinned at his second-in-command.

‘Lissen buddy. When th’ boys have fed, break out th’ crystal. Then when they get to Festival they’ll be crazy.’

20.

‘They’re comin’.’

‘They’re comin’.’

Joe Starkweather hurried to the ladder that led up the side of the Highway Gate watchtower and climbed it awkwardly. At the top Solly, one of the survivors of Valentine’s attack on Afghan Promise, was peering agitatedly through a battered telescope.

‘There’s one helluva lotta them, Joe. Gotta be more’n even the scouts tol’ us about on the road.’

‘How many?’

‘I dunno, looks like more’n a thousand t’ me.’

‘Let’s have a look.’

Starkweather raised the telescope to his eye.

‘Shit! You ain’t kiddin’; there’s maybe twelve hundred of them.’

He looked round grimly.

‘It ain’t gonna be easy. I’m goin’ down to get the word out to the local commanders.’

A commotion in the courtyard attracted Valentine’s attention and he moved to the window of the small palace room in which Starkweather’s rebels had locked him.

Starkweather was standing in the middle of the palace yard surrounded by more of his gang. Obviously something was happening. Horsemen hurriedly came and went; the gates continuously opened and shut to let them in and out.

Valentine walked to the door and kicked it noisily.

‘Guard! Guard! What’s goin’ on? Guard!’

After some moments the door opened and one of Starkweather’s men stepped inside.

‘Wha’re you yellin’ about?’

‘What’s goin’ on out there?’

The guard thought for a moment.

‘I s’pose there’s no harm in you knowin’. The outlaws are outside the city.’

Iggy raised his hand and the outlaw army slowly came to a halt. He glanced round for Winston who manoeuvred his horse up next to Iggy.

‘There seems to be some kinda barricade ’cross the highway.’

‘Yeah, get th’ puller moved up an’ tell the horsemen from Oltha’s tribe to form a line across th’ road. Okay?’

Winston rode off to carry out Iggy’s instructions. A while later there was a rumble as the huge traction engine rolled to the front of the column. Banana climbed down from the cab and hurried to where Iggy sat on his horse.

‘Wha’s gonna happen, boss?’

Iggy dismounted and led his horse to the side of the road as the cavalry that was once Oltha’s hurried their stocky ponies to the front.

Iggy watched as they formed themselves into a long line across the width of the highway; then he turned to Banana.

‘I’m gonna put half a dozen boys wi’ rapid-fires up wi’ you. You’ll need the shields aroun’ the cab. I wan’ you to go in at full speed an’ lose that barricade. The tribesmen’ll follow you in. Okay?’

‘Sho’ chief; you wan’ me to stay put or come back?’

‘I wan’ that barricade lost, then get back here quickly. Winston’ll give you all th’ details.’

Mac the Smith jumped down from the barricade.

‘Here they come! They’re usin’ tha’ fuggin’ engine!’

He ran to his position on the line as the rest of the defenders scrambled for their weapons. There was some sporadic shooting and Mac swung round yelling.

‘Okay, okay, don’t fire; you gotta wait till they’re in range. An’ don’t waste ammunition on that puller unless you can hit th’ driver.’

The line of outlaw horsemen thundered nearer with the traction engine running out in front. Mac fought off the temptation to shoot wildly at it. He was sure that it would reach the barricade and probably smash through it. He crawled to the group of men next to him.

‘Lissen, as soon as tha’ puller hits try an’ get up into the cab. It’s our only chance of stoppin’ it.’

‘Okay Mac, we’re wi’ you.’

Banana crouched in the cab of the puller and manipulated the steering rods. Behind him were six of the boys tensely clutching their rapid-fires. The odd bullet clanged against the steel shielding mounted around the cab but for the most part the defenders seemed to be directing their fire at the horsemen.

‘Better hol’ onto somethin’; we gonna hit any minute.’

The engine hit the barricade with a splintering crash of shattered timber. It slowed but did not stop. The wagon that was the main part of that section was knocked out of the way while the smaller things, such as furniture and crates, were crushed under the machine’s iron wheels.

Mac and his small group raced towards the puller as it cleared the barricade and began to turn in a wide curve. Desperately he looked for a clear shot at the driver but the entire cab was shrouded in steel shielding. A few paces in front of the others Mac broke into a sprint; his fingers clutched for the ladder that ran up to the cab. He managed to grip the ladder with one hand and for a dozen paces he was dragged, running, across the highway. At last he was able to find a foothold on the ladder and slowly began to climb the swaying monster. Then the shielding above his head crashed open and there was a burst of machine-gun fire from the cab.

Banana laughed as Stan and Li’l Henry opened fire through the opening in the shields round the cab. A small group of Festival men were running towards the puller. All but one who clung to the cab ladder were cut down in the first burst. Stan leaned over the side of the cab and looked down at the man on the ladder, a working man with cropped head and muscular arms, who stared up at them as though transfixed. Stan fired a short burst and the man fell back onto the highway, his arms and legs flapping as he rolled.

Banana slowed down the puller and swung back another section of shielding. They were now behind the barricade and running parallel to it. He could see the first of the tribesmen swarming across it, grappling hand to hand with Festival men.

All six of the outlaws went to work on the defenders while Banana held the machine steady. It was yet another variation on Iggy’s favourite crossfire trick: the men of Festival had no chance with the howling tribesmen on one side and the hail of bullets from the puller on the other. Banana noted that some of the tribesmen were hit by their fire but their companions seemed too crazed on crystal to notice or care.

Very soon the last defender had fallen. Banana swung the machine round and began picking up speed. Tribesmen leaped from their path as the puller butted a second hole in the barricade. Then they were rolling back down the highway to where Iggy waited.

Nasty Elaine and a handful of Northsiders stood their ground as the crowds of fleeing people rushed past. A hundred paces away, beside the highway, shacks and tents were burning. A couple of times, through the crowd, she had caught sight of outlaw horsemen on small shaggy ponies harassing the refugees running from their burning homes, but she had been unable to get a clear shot at them. Shotgun blasts had driven back a skirmishing party of outlaws on foot and it seemed that they were waiting for a larger force to move up before attempting to crush the last resistance of the Northside. They probably didn’t realise, she thought bitterly, just how token that resistance would be. They had counted on being able to hold the outlaws, at least for a while, at the barricade and most of the weapons and ammunition had been sent there.

The last of the refugees streamed past and soon the central avenue of the Northside was empty except for the handful of men and women who crouched behind the ring of furniture, barrels and straw bales, waiting for the outlaw assault.

It was almost quiet. The muffled roar of the burning shacks and the occasional gunfire from the highway seemed a long way away.

Then outlaws came down the square like a breaking wave. They were not the same tribesmen on their squat ponies who had rushed the barricade: these were thin leather-clad men on tall horses. They swung heavy rapid-fire guns and had faces that seemed transformed by wild, evil lust.

Elaine swung up her shotgun and the first blast lifted one of them clear out of his saddle.

A second came at her: a slight, pale man with long, curly hair riding a huge black horse. She misjudged the shot and although his horse ploughed into the ground he rolled clear and jumped to his feet cursing and swinging his gun in her direction.

‘Ya dirty bitch!’

The shock of his horse being shot from under him seemed to make Iggy’s crystal-fed anger erupt into almost inhuman fury. His usual lazy, feminine face became a mask of hate. He jumped to his feet firing blindly. Then he saw the woman who had brought his horse down. She swung a shotgun by the barrel and was actually coming at him.

He squeezed the trigger and felt the machine gun buck in his hands. He went on firing long after the woman had fallen, watching her body twitch and jerk in the dust under the impact of the bullets.

Then his gun stopped as the clip ran out and he slowly lowered it. All round him the firing had ceased.

Winston pulled his horse to a stop beside him. Iggy looked up as though dazed when he spoke.

‘You hurt?’

‘No, no, jus’ my horse totalled.’

Everythin’ north of the highway is ours now. You wan’ we should set up camp here?’

Iggy looked around. His men sat on their horses waiting for orders.

‘No, pull back onto th’ highway f’ the night. Tell the tribesmen t’ burn this place to the ground.’

He paused.

‘An’ tell ’em they can do what they wan’ with any prisoners. Oh, an’ one other thing: tell ’em to start their dead singin’ soon as it’s dark. Tell ’em to sing loud an’ long. Make sho’ they don’ get no sleep in Festival.’

21.

‘Is that hideous chant gonna go on all night?’

It was Frankie Lee’s watch in front of the Last Chance. He pulled his cloak tighter around himself and shuddered. The chanting from out on the highway was getting to his head.

Claudette, who was sharing the watch with him, passed him a small jug of spirit.

‘Here Frankie boy, have a hit on this.’

Frankie Lee tilted the jug, gave it back to Claudette and wiped his mouth.

‘Like it says in me name text: “your loss will be my gain”.’

For a while the two of them sat in silence; then the sound of footsteps made Frankie Lee stiffen and tighten his grip on the gun across his knees.

Slowly he stood up.

‘Hold it right there!’

The footsteps stopped.

‘Now come forward real nice an’ slow.’

‘Take it easy, Frankie, it’s jus’ me makin’ the rounds.’

Frankie Lee recognised the voice of Joe Starkweather.

The old man stepped into the porch of the Last Chance and sat down on the low wall of sandbags.

‘Everythin’ okay?’

‘Sure, ’cept tha’ godam singin’. It’s givin’ me the horrors.’

‘It’s only a hill tribe singin’ the dead?

Frankie Lee shook his head.

‘Wha’ they gotta do tha’ for?’

‘You never been in the hills?’

‘Not as far out as you find the wild tribes. I’m a city kid.’

‘After a hill tribe kills they sing a chant for the spirits of the dead. They believe it’ll stop them seekin’ revenge.’

‘They gonna do that for us?’

‘Who knows? Maybe we’ll hold ’em, maybe we won’t.’

‘Northside couldn’t hold ’em.’

‘Like I said — who knows.’

Starkweather stood up.

‘I gotta take a look at Shacktown. I’ll see you people later.’

‘Later, Mistuh Starkweather.’

They watched him disappear into the darkness and then sat in silence for a long while. It was Claudette who finally spoke.

‘You think we’re gonna die tomorrow?’

Frankie Lee looked at her and shrugged.

‘Like Joe said — who knows.’

‘You ain’t as hard as you pretend, Frankie Lee. How come you didn’t pull out wi’ the other drifters?’

‘Too much of a city kid, I s’pose.’

There was a long pause; then Claudette spoke again.