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Invercharing Community, 2063
“What!” Rory closed his mouth on the expletive that would follow. A child cried in the far corner of the medical centre, and forceps clanged in a metal tray as Cèilidh tended to the dressing of a youth who’d injured himself while chopping wood. “No.” He shook his head, stifling the word, so it was a low mumble, along with the desire to hold Siobhan and never let go.
Christine got up from the couch in the quiet area of the medical centre and shut the door, creating privacy, of a sort.
“Before she passed, Dr Bec told me if there was any complication with Siobhan’s pregnancy, she was to go straight to the Bunker where they could deal with it safely.” Christine spoke in authoritative tones. “Rory, you can’t deny your wife—”
“Och! I’m not. I just dinnae like it, that’s all!” His nostrils flared. “It’s just that Siobhan will be in the Bunker for the next six months, instead of being here. I’ll miss ma wee boy, too for I cannae stay there with you, Siobhan.” He slid his arms around her waist, not caring they were in the busy medical centre and patients and medics alike could look through the windows into the quiet corner if they wished.
“I know, Rory, but I must go.” Siobhan’s voice was soft in his ear, but her tone held something else. Was it fear?
“You’ll be okay, Siobhan. They’ll know what placenta-whatever is, will they no’?”
“Aye,” Christine answered for Siobhan. “I’ve already contacted their medical staff. They’re happy—no insisting—she comes as soon as you can.”
“No’ on a horse, lass.” He let go of her waist and stood back. “We’ll take a wagon. It will still be over a week on a rattly thing, but we’ll drive slow, aye? And Jake will cope better with it, too.”
Siobhan’s shoulders eased their tension, so did her expression. If only he felt as relieved as Siobhan.
“Well, at least it coincides with the Christmas celebrations.” Christine was enthusiastic. “You’ll be a wee bit early, Rory, but you may as well stay for them.”
“Aye.” He tilted his head. “Cannae be away for long. I’ll have to return. Just hope the weather holds. Those bandits are getting more eager and reckless. The abnormally darker skies are stirring them up.”
***
Fife
SIOBHAN HALF LAY, HALF sat in the rear of the wagon and shuffled her feet, stretching her legs out on the thin mattress covering the bottom of the wagon and wriggling her toes, numb with cold. The seat in the front next to Rory was hard and backache had set in again, despite the thick cushion she’d brought. All the way from Invercharing, Jake had alternated between sitting beside his father while watching the road pass by, and chatting about everything, or playing with his toys next to her in the tray of the wagon.
“You wait there, Siobhan.” A halo of misted breath floated around Rory’s face in the semi-darkness. “I’ll see if there’s anywhere nearby—”
“But my dad will put us up!” Micah pulled his mount’s reins, settling the animal’s impatient nickers. “Come on, man. He won’t try anything. We’re all expected at the Bunker tomorrow.”
Rory faced Siobhan, his crinkled brow exposed his inner fight with resignation, then he looked back to Micah.
Siobhan poked her head out through the canvas awning that kept out some of the Scottish winter. Night was already here. Winter’s days were not only short but even darker and colder with the ashen screen continually covering the sun from the volcano’s eruption which had spread its cloud over the northern hemisphere. They couldn’t get to the Bunker soon enough, as far as Siobhan was concerned. There would be efficient heating there.
“Your wifey and yoor wee boy deserve a decent place to stay tonight, Rory,” Micah continued his reasoning. “I give you my word, we’ll be okay.”
Rory turned to her in the back of the wagon. “What do you think, Siobhan?”
“Jake’s chestier. Getting him out of the cold air would help. And I need a soft, warm place to rest. I’d rather not turn up at the Bunker looking haggard and forlorn.”
Rory’s cheek muscles tensed, then he let out a misty breath once more. “Verra well.”
“Good!” Micah had barely let the word out when he kicked his horse to a canter.
Cèilidh had remained at home in Invercharing with their children. Siobhan shrugged, trying to shake away the slight resentment. Cèilidh’s pregnancies, despite being twins, had gone without a hitch.
Rory drove the wagon as it rattled down the road to the old holiday park, while the figure of Micah on his horse moved away into the night. Light dotted the darkness ahead to her left, and soon the forms of the old holiday cabins loomed closer. Rory drove the horses onto the track that led to the central area of the village. Light spilled from the cabins and the shadows of the occupants crossed the narrow verandas.
Men milled around the main building where Siobhan and Rory had first met Lloyd. Memories of a scone piled high with cream tweaked the corner of Siobhan’s mouth. The men carried boxes and bags over to the parked wagons where Micah’s horse stood, its nose in a feed trough and its tail swishing. Rory drove the horses in that direction. Micah came running beside the wagon.
“Ma dad’s chuffed.” Micah’s eyes sparkled in the lantern light. “He says he’d be delighted to accommodate you and your family for the night and then travel with you in convoy to the Scottish Government Bunker to celebrate Christmas.”
“I’m sure he would.” Rory hid none of his derision. He pulled the horses to a stop in front of the stable area. “We’ll be in once I’ve unhitched and tended to ma’ animals.”
“Och, no.” Micah sounded offended. He called into the stable area, then a young lad came running out, bobbing his head to acknowledge Micah’s orders to tend to the horses. Micah helped unload the bags while Siobhan stepped down from the wagon with care.
“I need to bathe and bed my boy after some food, Micah.” Siobhan lifted Jake from the wagon; the night air hit his chest and he coughed and grizzled.
“Oh, aye. I’ve got the cook onto that already, Siobhan. Uncle Micah will make sure wee Jaykie’s got a comfy bed for the night.” He nuzzled his face into Jake’s and planted a kiss on her toddler’s cheek. Jake cried fully. “Och, no. Wheesht, lad.”
Micah carried their bags and led them inside the main building. Siobhan rested Jake on her hip and shushed him, and Rory walked behind with a duffle bag in each hand. They followed Micah to a room, which had an en suite, a double bed, and a cot in the corner.
“This is all very civilised.” Siobhan took Jake’s coat and shoes off and sat him in the cot while Micah and Rory placed their bags on the bed.
“Of course, it is.” Micah stood taller. “Mavis will bring the wean’s dinner in soon. But you must dine with my father and me this evening.” Micah beamed.
“Thank you, Micah.” Rory seemed genuine.
“Don’t take long.” Micah shut the door behind him.
Siobhan turned and faced Rory. His expression was tight.
“What?”
“I don’t like it.” His right eye narrowed. “If we go in convoy with Lloyd, it will seem like we’re aligned with him.” He looked at her then. “And we definitely are not.”
***
THE CHILL SOON LEFT Rory’s bones with the warmth of the heated room seeping into him. Jake settled down after Siobhan fed him the stew Mavis had brought and was soon asleep in the cot. Micah led their way down the passage to the room where Lloyd had first entertained them. Now, a long, solid wood table stood in the centre of the room, surrounded by chairs that had lighter wood marquetry inlays on their backs. It was set for five. The cutlery shone silver and the crockery, a fine bone china, had gold edging on each plate.
“Somebody wishes to impress,” Rory whispered into Siobhan’s ear as they entered.
“Let him,” she whispered back. “A nice meal in a classy setting would be a great change.”
“Dinnae be fooled. There’s nothin’ classy about this man.” A side door opened, and Rory cut his whisper short.
Lloyd entered followed by his son and heir, Maxwell. “Good evening and welcome, friends.” Lloyd held his hands high and a superior smile filled his face. “I hear congratulations are in order on account of you both expecting your second child. I trust all is well with you, Mrs Campbell.”
The cunning bastard knows things are not.
Rory controlled an exhalation, attempting to settle the tension between his shoulder blades. He’d have to bear the charade of friendship. His wife and his boy needed a good meal and a comfortable bed. It was a price Rory would pay, but his senses were on high alert.
“Maxwell, son.” Lloyd straightened to look Mr Lloyd junior in the eye. “Show our guests where they are to be seated. Dinner is ready.”
“Thank you for accommodating us at such short notice, Mr Lloyd.” Siobhan had switched on her peace-keeping mode.
“Aye, we are very grateful.” Rory joined the diplomacy. “It’s been a long journey.”
“My pleasure.” Lloyd’s expression was amicable.
He sat at the head of the table while Maxwell directed them to sit, with Micah next to Siobhan and Rory opposite them, and Maxwell sat at the far end of the table. Lloyd had once again seated Rory with his back to the main exit.
“So, Micah”—Lloyd unfolded a linen napkin and placed it in his lap. “Your friends, colleagues, whatever you seem to call them—”
“My bandit associates, father?” Micah shook out the napkin that sat at his place setting.
“Aye, son.”
“Och, they’re sending representatives to the Bunker, if that’s what you’re askin’.” Micah placed the napkin in his lap.
“And you’ll both be attending on behalf of the Communities, Mr and Mrs Campbell?” Lloyd asked.
Mavis brought a tureen of soup to the table.
“We’re representing Invercharing,” Rory said. “Other Communities are sendin’ their own delegates.”
Mavis lifted the lid from the tureen and the aroma of seasoned potatoes wafted into Rory’s face. Steam billowed up while she served the soup. His stomach grumbled—it had been a long time since their light snack on the road.
“Oh, wonderful. I look forward to meeting the other Community leaders.” The man tried hard, but he gave away his roots with his excitement. Streetwise Glasgow, Rory’s father would’ve called the accent sneaking through.
“You haven’t come across any other Communities, Mr Lloyd?” Siobhan asked. “I imagine your network has quite a reach.”
“Only the one up near Arbroath.” Lloyd spooned the soup into his mouth and soon finished his bowl. “They have supplied our main course. Ever had smokies?” He directed his question to Siobhan, who shook her head.
Mavis cleared the table and soon returned with a hot platter of brown coloured fish. A smoky aroma surrounded her while she served a portion onto each plate. Two teenage girls followed closely behind her and served out the vegetables.
“What do you think the Government is up to, Father?” Micah asked.
Lloyd placed the forkful of smoked fish into his mouth and chewed.
“Micah, the Government isn’t up to anything,” Siobhan interjected. “Only meeting the leaders of the people and offering hospitality.” Her irritation came through with her tone. “Pardon my rudeness, Mr Lloyd, but I’m certain the New Scottish Government only has goodwill and conversation in mind for this Christmas meeting.”
“New Scottish Government. Aye, I heard they’d already named themselves.” Hoary brows lifted above steel-grey eyes.
“Well, no, but that’s what we’re aiming for—”
“I hope so, as I would like to be consulted.” Lloyd’s fork remained immobile, a chunk of smokies dangling from its tines.
“And you will. As you are attending, your voice will be heard.” Siobhan spoke with conviction, but a sliver of defensiveness slid through.
“I expect more than just a voice, Mrs Campbell. I am an influential figure in these parts. A significant force. A successful businessman who trades throughout the country. No matter whose side you’re on, you cannot deny it.”
“I don’t, Mr Lloyd, and we will be so pleased to hear what you have to say on restoring a government for the people and, indeed, rebuilding Scotland to her former glory.”
“We?”
“The Government.” Siobhan’s cheeks pinked under Lloyd’s stare.
“It won’t be easy,” Micah said around a mouthful of dinner.
“No, son, it won’t,” Lloyd slid his glance sideways at his younger son. “You are correct. Here’s hoping it will not involve conflict. Although conflict is, at times, inevitable.” Lloyd spoke through the clinking of cutlery on the gold-rimmed plates and the muffled voices of women in the kitchen. “It has been a necessity in the past.”
The salty smokiness of fish melted like butter on Rory’s tongue—along with the last dregs of respect he could muster for this man who was their host.
“How so, Mr Lloyd?” Rory kept his tone level, his desire to understand this man restraining the hate in his voice.
“Read your history, Mr Campbell, for it records war as beneficial to developing civilisations. It forces societies to be organised, manage their resources—including people.”
Siobhan’s knife thunked on the table.
“Think of the technological advances we owed to those two World Wars.” Lloyd looked up from his meal. “Medical advances such as penicillin! Means of detection—RADAR. You may have come across that yourself, young Campbell, on your journey in that submarine.”
Rory swallowed his mouthful of creamy mashed potato, all enjoyment gone.
“Aye, news travels.” Without pausing for a response from Rory, Lloyd continued resting his gaze on Siobhan as he said, “Computers, now they were a big innovation.”
The fork’s handle dug into Rory’s palm while his mind took one step ahead of Lloyd’s conversation. Part of him wished it to stop. The other part needed to know for sure where it headed.
“We need a good war to develop our world again.” Lloyd paused in his dissertation and placed a forkful of dinner in his mouth.
“What about the lives that are sacrificed in gaining that knowledge and development?” Rory tried not to speak through clenched teeth.
“Collateral.” Lloyd didn’t flinch at the tone Rory had thrown at him. “Sorting out the rabble from the genius. We want stronger, smarter, and improved versions of humans to run the new world that will emerge.”
“Are you speaking of eugenics, Mr Lloyd?” Siobhan’s fork clattered on her plate.
“Ah yes, you are on my wavelength, Mrs Campbell. A pure race of Celtic-Scots origin. I’d like that.” Lloyd sat back in his chair and gazed ahead, thoughtful. “The Celts—they understood what war and sacrifice were about. They were the thinkers of their day.”
Siobhan stood. “I’d better check on our baby.” She walked to the end of the table where she paused and briefly met Rory’s eye. Her hands trembled. “Actually, I’m exhausted. Thank you for a delicious dinner,” she said to Lloyd. “I must get to bed now. Goodnight.”
Maxwell stood and closed the door behind her. Rory returned his gaze to the Nazi-cum-Celt-lover at the head of the table. Lloyd’s rheumy stare was focused on the remains of his mashed potato, his eating utensils standing upright in his white-knuckled grip.
Rory searched for an equal reason to leave but it would risk the ire of their host, despite Micah’s presence. Instead he gritted his teeth and settled in for what he expected would be a dessert of further revelations.