Bill dropped the shotgun onto the table followed by the bag he had been carrying. Vincent placed his on the table as well.
“That for the boys downstairs?” asked Vincent.
“Yes,” she responded.
“Any tea for us, Sally?”
“Yes, Bill, on its way.”
“Us too, Sally,” piped up Aleck.
“Of course, boys, you’ve earned it. Kelly, sort some tea for the boys.”
“Sure, Sal,” responded the blonde-haired, pimply-faced teenager.
Vincent and Aleck started to take out the contraband and lay it out on the table. The total haul was four shotguns and about 400 cartridges, along with cleaning kits.
“Start a war with that lot,” suggested Kelly, the seventeen-year-old.
“It’ll help keep us safe,” Bill informed her as he slumped down into an office chair.
The NLA office block in the centre of Croydon had been a good option. Once the bombs had struck, tens of thousands of houses were destroyed, flattened or burnt to the ground throughout London and the peripheries. Food and water supplies had become scarcer by the day. Bill Watson then made for the NLA tower block, gathering a few other families whom he knew and trusted along the way. Anticipating anarchy, he believed that they would be more secure hiding out in an office block rather than in the centre of a residential area, particularly as so few of the surviving blocks of flats had remained standing. There had only been half a dozen windows left in the NLA building, but they had been on the opposite side of the building, partially protected, facing away from the blast wave. The rest of the windows had been completely shattered, leaving the aluminium frames open to the elements. This room had all its windows; hence the reason he had chosen it as his operations centre.
In the early days, Bill had organised the families zealously, gathering other groups to join them. Initially, they had survived with only what they had brought with them from their homes, not wanting to go out into the contaminated environment during the first few weeks after the strikes. In the meantime, office furniture had been pushed aside, open windows boarded up, or at least at the rate of a dozen a day. Then scavenging parties were organised, looking for food, water and badly needed supplies, particularly food and medicines. A list had been drawn up which also included mattresses, bedding, bicycles, camping equipment, such as stoves and utensils, and any weapons they could lay their hands on. There had been a few confrontations with other groups as they also came out into the dust-ridden gloom looking for food and water. Some groups had a more ominous purpose, preferring to steal off others and partake in gang rape. But his colony had eventually reached a total of eighty-two people, providing him with the manpower to protect the families and build up an ever-increasing level of resources to help them through whatever was thrown at them in the coming months and years.
He had chosen this particular tower block not only because of its size but also because of its use as business premises. There were no occupying families to contend with, which would have made it more difficult to secure full occupation. The rooms were significantly larger and open plan, as opposed to the rabbit warrens of individual flats in a residential block. This, along with only two entrances, he surmised, would make their home easier to defend.
In the first few days, at least two families had challenged his authority, questioning his right to lead, stating that they would not follow his orders but go their own way. Bill had been a fireman before the world changed, and was stocky and fit to go with it. A few blows from Bill’s ham-like fists had restored order, and the families in question had been evicted subsequently. The majority of the new occupants were satisfied with Bill’s leadership, comforted by the fact that someone at least knew what they were doing. A few resented his control, but they accepted they were in the minority and certainly didn’t relish the prospect of being ejected from what was proving to be a relatively safe environment.
After the bombs had struck and the many fires had burnt themselves out, anarchy ruled the city and surrounding areas. Competition for food and water was on, and the strong preyed on the weak. A small local government centre had started off well, trying to restore order, but was eventually overwhelmed by the sheer number of people. The police officers and soldiers, many of them ill with radiation sickness, had slowly dispersed, returning to protect their own families from the ever-increasing levels of violence. Two Territorial Army soldiers, along with their families, had actually joined Bill’s group. His only regret had been their inability to bring their assault weapons with them.
The government centre was eventually overrun, even before they could initiate the distribution of food. So, law and order, little that there had been, was now non-existent. But now Bill had these new weapons, and with the knowledge where more modern firearms could be obtained, he could use them to further strengthen the group’s position.
Just as his eyes started to close and he was drifting off to sleep, he was brought back up by Sally bringing him a drink.
“Here you go, Bill, have this. Then go get some sleep, eh?”
Bill smiled and took the proffered cup of black tea, wondering how long tea would be available to them as he sipped at it.
“Thanks, Sal. Yeah, I will soon. Need to chat with Trevor and Robbie first.”
Sally flicked a piece of her shoulder-length, dark brown hair out of her green eyes. “I’ll send Kelly to get them?”
“That’d be great.” He smiled, and she reciprocated. She was a good-looking woman, he thought. Maybe one day…
By the time he’d finished his tea and had his cup topped up, Trevor and Robbie had arrived. Bill dismissed the two women for the night, and the three men gathered around the conference table.
Trevor, a wide grin across his face, admired the shotguns laid out on the table. “Bloody good job, Bill. Now we can take better care of ourselves.”
“Too right,” added Robbie, a mechanic in a past life. Although not officially, Robbie was Bill’s number two. The man, a solid six feet in height, was incredibly fit, a triathlete, and as sharp as a knife. Bill had allotted him the responsibility for controlling their non-food supplies. Trevor, on the other hand, was a skinny as a rake, with white hair and matching coloured beard. But he too was as bright as a button and could handle himself when the situation required it. As an ex-chef, he had been given responsibility for the group’s food and water supplies.
Bill nodded. “I’ll get the TA lads to check them out, clean them up, and give us some instruction on how best to use them.”
“Shouldn’t be difficult to fire. Just point and shoot.”
“I’m sure it is, Trevor, but I just want to be on the safe side.”
The two men nodded, accepting Bill’s judgement. Bill pulled one of the maps towards the centre of the table, closer to where Trevor and Robbie stood. Both recognised the area immediately.
Bill tapped the map around Coulsdon. “According to the ex-TA lads, there’s a TA drill hall based here on Marlpit Lane. They reckon it’s probably been stripped of weapons before it was destroyed, but I reckon it’s worth a look.”
“It’s about five miles away, Bill, and we don’t really know what the score is around there,” pointed out Robbie.
“We got these now,” Trevor said, pointing at the shotguns.
“I know,” responded Bill, “but there are bound to be some automatic weapons out there, and unless we can get some of the same, we’ll be outgunned every time.”
“The boys said that just before they left, the TA units were running out of ammo.”