Fall of the Cities: Planting the Orchard
by Vance Huxley
Genre: YA Fantasy, Apocalyptic
The world is falling apart. Terrorists spark a worldwide oil and gas crisis while imports grind to a halt. Europe and Britain are erupting into chaos as food runs out and desperate people take matters into their own hands.
As the government begins to seal off rioting parts of the city, Corporal Harry Miller takes an offered discharge to get his sister and her kids to safety. But he’s not fast enough. Trapped in the city with a rag-tag collection of ordinary citizens, Harry struggles to create a small pocket of stability - a place to ride out the coming confrontation between rioters and the Army, and save themselves from complete annihilation.
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“Good morning sir. This is your early morning call.”
“Wha? Mmm, coffee.” Harry got an eye open and confirmed coffee and that the voice really
was female. “Cynthia?” He quickly checked that the blanket was over him. “What are you doing
“We have a list of your shift times. The other corporal, Menzies, left it in the kitchen. See, I’ve
remembered the ranks. We’ve been learning them.” Cynthia giggled. “Maybe not morning, it’s
nine o’clock at night.”
“Twenty one hundred.”
“It said two thousand one hundred or twenty one point double zero. I didn’t fancy trying to say
that but it’s nine o’clock on the kitchen clock.”
Harry’s head slowly caught up, not helped by the bright chattering voice. “You should knock
first. Just in case, er, we’re washing our boxers or whatever.”
“It can’t be worse than the last three days where we all managed with one of everything.” Her
eyes widened. “Unless you lot are commandos? I’ve heard all about them.”
Harry laughed. “No, I’m a pay clerk.”
“Well, the pen is mightier than the sword.” That twinkle was in her eye again.
“Only if there’s a line of blokes with swords or rifles to back up the man with a pen.” Harry
glanced down the room and the other beds were empty. Bugger, he’d better get her out of
here sharpish. If Sarge caught him with a woman in here? “You’d better get out of here before
you get me into trouble.”
Her eyes flashed again. “That’s supposed to be what I say.” Cynthia pouted. “In that case I’ll put
your coffee here and leave. I’d been hoping to find out if what they say about soldiers is true.”
Harry wasn’t falling for that lead‐in. Though it was tempting with those eyes because it had
been a long time since he’d been close to a pretty lass. Well, one he’d dare be alone with and
didn’t have a horde of fanatical relatives. “Scat. I’ll be down in half an hour.”
“Yes, Corporal Menzies said it would take you half an hour to get yourself fit to be seen.” She
sniggered. “That must be why you’ve got those covers pulled up so high.” Then Cynthia twirled
and left, but not before Harry saw the smile on her face.
Harry sat up and picked up the coffee. Mmm, lovely. Though Cynthia had better be careful
about wandering into this room since either of the others could have been showering or getting
changed. Harry mused briefly on that smile. Then regretfully decided that since she was living in
a room with three or four others, and so was he, he’d never find out just how interested
Cynthia was. Though his early morning call had definitely put Harry in a good mood.
Right up until just after midnight. “Move it, move it!” Soldiers stumbled out of rooms as the fire
bell went off. They assumed this was a call‐out and not a fire since an officer had decided to use
it as an emergency alarm. Though Cullen turned up to check, just in case there was a fire.
“The walking wounded are staying to mind the store so you’ve got to be a real soldier for a
change. See if you remember how.” Harry ignored the lieutenant and found Menzies and the
others who were now in their squads, then got into ranks. Harry had kept his shield but now it
was strapped to his chest instead of to his pack.
Menzies was scowling. “We’ve got a few more shields now, but no bloody batons or rubber
“Is it another riot? Against bayonets? Are they bloody stupid?” Harry couldn’t believe it but
sure enough they were soon marching to where two single decker buses were waiting. It was
cramped inside but not for long since they hadn’t far to go. Then once again it was bayonets
Vance Huxley lives out in the countryside in Lincolnshire, England. He has spent a busy life
working in many different fields – including the building and rail industries, as a workshop
manager, trouble‐shooter for an engineering firm, accountancy, cafe proprietor, and graphic
artist. He also spent time in other jobs, and is proud of never being dismissed, and only
once made redundant.
Eventually he found his Noeline, but unfortunately she died much too young. To help with the
aftermath, Vance tried writing though without any real structure. As an editor and beta readers
explained the difference between words and books, he tried again.
Now he tries to type as often as possible in spite of the assistance of his cats, since his legs no
longer work well enough to allow anything more strenuous. An avid reader of sci‐fi, fantasy and
adventure novels, his writing tends towards those genres.