Friday Afternoon
Homestead Grounds
They left Reggie’s car in the parking lot and walked across the grounds toward the central compound. It lay at the heart of the site, surrounded by a privacy fence, and screened by bushes.
Jim had been inside the compound before. Ginny had taken him in and shown him how the clan arranged the living history exhibits for the paying public.
The trio walked past the numerous storerooms and staging areas, and what felt like a mile of bulletin and display boards before they reached the security room. It was manned by a pair of peace officers, both members of the clan.
All three of them were biometrically identified before being issued ID badges and allowed access to the inner office areas. Jim noted with interest that Reggie was wearing a shoulder holster, gun in place, and neither of the guards seemed the slightest bit disturbed by it.
“This way.” Himself gestured down a short hall. He stopped in front of an elevator, pushed a button, then caught Jim’s eye.
“Ye may ha’ noticed th’ Loch Lonach Homestead has its ain distillery.”
Jim grinned. “Yes. I bought a bottle the first time I came out here. Not bad. It needs aging, but not bad otherwise.”
The doors opened and the three men entered the elevator. Reggie reached over and pushed the single button on the panel. It was labeled, ‘Entrance.’
Jim left his stomach topside, but it caught up with him before they reached their destination. When the elevator doors opened, Reggie led the way out. As soon as Jim was clear, Reggie closed a metal gate across the elevator entrance, the latch snapping into place with a well-oiled click.
Jim stepped forward into a semigloom broken by warehouse style lamps strung along a roof that seemed too far away to be feasible. It took him a minute to realize that the ceiling was actually the roof of an underground cavern.
“Wow!” Jim turned slowly, taking in the size of the cavern.
“Aye. It’s that all right.”
“I’ll go get a cart,” Reggie said.
Himself moved off down one of the paths, angling to the right and following the gentle decline around a stalagmite as big as a hundred-year oak. He turned to face Jim.
“Th’ public disnae get tae come doon here.”
Jim’s head was still swiveling from side to side, trying to take in what he was seeing. “Why not? Lots of people would pay to come see this.”
Himself nodded. “Tis no a tourist trap. ‘Tis a refuge.”
Jim focused suddenly on the old man’s face. “A refuge?”
“Aye. Fer the clan.” He gestured toward a bench set along the edge of the path. “Sit, lad.”
His grandfather stood in front of him, eyeing the vast space.
“Th’ first settlers found th’ caves and used them tae store food and cattle. The temperature is a constant sixty Fahrenheit, gi’e or take a degree or twa. O’er time they explored deeper and found this place. The laird and council realized what could be done here. They surveyed th’ land above and filed claims, then built farms and ranches, all wi’oot revealing th’ secret. O’er the years, successive lairds ha’e added tae th’ design. They constructed the community above and secured th’ access tae the caverns below.” Himself paused, then turned to face Jim.
“When th’ fightin’ breaks oot, the clan will come doon here. We’ve space fer fifty thousand souls.”
Jim stared at his grandfather. There was no hint of a smile. Jim swallowed. “What fighting?”
“Th’ world changes, lad, and trouble’s comin’. We mean tae be ready.” He fixed Jim with a hard eye. “There are nae sae many as know o’ this place. Ye hold th' fate o’ fifty thousand o’ yer people in yer hand. Will ye keep th’ secret?”
Jim nodded, feeling foolish, and a little afraid. What had he gotten himself into?
* * *
By this time, Reggie had returned with a golf cart.
“We’ll spend some time doon here, lad, you an’ I, but no today.” Himself climbed aboard and indicated that Jim should do the same. “There’s nowt tae do this day but show ye th’ way oot. Ye’ll need tae know where tae pick up Monroe.”
Jim nodded, then grabbed one of the bars as the vehicle moved off. He was having trouble wrapping his head around the implications of what he was seeing.
“Am I allowed to ask questions?”
“Ask away.”
“How big is this place?”
“Nobody kens fer sure. ‘Tis aboot twenty miles tae th’ exit we’ll be using, but we’ve mapped upwards o’ two hundred miles o’ trails and passages.”
Jim whistled silently. “How tall, inside, I mean?”
“Th’ equivalent o’ a ten-story building straight up here and in th’ other large rooms, wi’ two hundred feet above that tae ground level. Did ye no wonder at th’ length o’ th’ ride down?”
Jim nodded. “I did, but I had no idea what it meant.” They were passing a wide variety of—he didn’t know what to call them. Stations? Compartments? Sections? “I assume there’s fresh water somewhere.”
“Aye, and a sanitation system in place. Also air shafts and ventilation.”
They rounded a corner and Jim suddenly recognized the shapes they had been passing in the deep shadows. “Casks!”
Himself chuckled. “Aye! Whisky in sherry casks. Just as ye suggested.”
The corner of Jim’s mouth twitched. Not actually a smile. He hadn’t smiled since setting foot down here, but he was starting to recover from the shock.
As they rode on, he began to notice signage indicating there were other areas of the complex. One caught his eye.
“You have a hospital down here?”
“Tis nae a hospital. More a medical clinic, but ‘tis set up fer surgery as weel as illness. And ‘tis well stocked.”
Jim leaned forward. “How well stocked?”
His grandfather looked back at him over his shoulder. “What do ye need, lad?”
“Morphine, for the trip to Nova Scotia.”
Reggie nodded. “Not a problem.”
Jim lifted an eyebrow. Access to narcotics was heavily regulated. Did this place have the necessary licenses?
“Here, lad. Look here.” Himself was pointing something out. “That way lies th’ living quarters, wi’ th’ kitchens and food storage. In th’ other direction is th’ mill. We raise th’ sheep and goats topside, then bring th’ wool down here fer preparation, spinning, and weaving. Cotton, too. Nae silk worms, yet, though I would like tae include them. Natural fibers only. We’re unlikely tae ha’ access tae petroleum products after th’ war starts. Th’ oil fields are high-profile targets.”
Jim peered off to the side and could just make out lights in the next cavern over, and a sound like bumblebees in the distance.
“And o’er here is th’ soap manufacturing.”
“Soap.”
Himself chuckled. “Good Scottish soap. Ye canna save civilization wi’ oot soap.”
Cloth and soap and food and whisky. What else?
“O’er here is th’ pharmacy.”
Jim turned his head quickly, but couldn’t get a good look at the area indicated. “Where do you get your drugs?”
Reggie answered that one. “We make them.”
“Make them?”
“We have pharmaceutical manufacturing for all the botanicals, minerals, and animal extracts. We grow the plants and raise the animals. The minerals have to be purchased in bulk, but we’ve got enough stockpiled for ten years of manufacturing. The lab grown drugs, not so much. We have some, but not all. On the other hand, the newest—the stem cell and DNA based targeted therapies—are state of the art. We have some of the best minds in the country working here. In addition, we have labs set up to make all the basic chemicals we’ve gotten used to: rubbing alcohol, iodine, hydrogen peroxide, bleach, ammonia. That sort of thing. The pharmacy also makes hand lotion, toothpaste, and deodorant. The machine shops can make any tool you can think of. We use computers to design, 3-D printers to manufacture, and a wireless net for internal communications. That ID badge you’re wearing includes GPS and biometric monitoring as well as voice interface.”
Jim was having trouble taking it all in, especially at the speed Reggie was dishing it out. He grasped at something more manageable.
“Will my phone work down here?”
“Normally, no, but we have antennas and solar collectors topside and relays throughout which we can control from a variety of locations. That way we can turn them off if we need to, but otherwise they’re left on, so, yes, your phone will work down here at the moment. Also ham radio for when the cell towers come down. And satellite phones for as long as the birds are up there, and we can reach them. Electricity is produced by wind turbines set up on the farms and throughout the community. We generate enough for all our needs and sell the rest back to the power company, but we also stockpile power, mostly in the form of batteries, though we’re still using combustion engines for some of the tasks.”
They turned a corner and Jim could see daylight ahead.
“There’s th’ entrance.” Himself waited until the cart came to a full stop, then climbed out.
He led Jim along a steadily widening ramp. It curved upward, flanked by stairs, out from under the rock face and into the sunshine. Jim found himself standing on the edge of a farm, a dirt road stretching off in both directions and the vast Texas sky above them.
“We’ll make sure you have directions to this spot,” Reggie told him. “We wouldn’t want you to get lost.”
Jim turned and looked back at the cavern entrance. It was there, but almost invisible, the rock and dirt covered in scrub brush and hardy Mesquite trees. He could just see the edges of the opening and the metal rails that indicated a gate that could be lowered at need. The path would not admit any but the most compact of cars, no trucks or SUVs. It was a very private, not very impressive hole in the ground. He turned to his grandfather.
“Are the Homesteads all like this?”
“Aye. All strongholds intended to shelter th’ clans, though nae all ha’e caverns in which tae stash them.”
“How many are there?”
“Five hundred and twelve on th’ North American continent.”
Jim blinked. If each Homestead could handle even just 20,000 people, they could save ten million Scots. Enough to start afresh after the cataclysm. “Wow.”
“Aye. Ye needed tae know afore ye headed north, sae ye’d ha’ some idea what tae expect. I’ll also need tae gi’ ye some names and other information, but ‘tis enough fer one day.”
Jim turned and followed the other two down into the cavern. He said nothing on the ride back, listening to the conversation between Himself and Reggie as they discussed additional plans for Monroe’s disappearance.
Jim had had private reservations when he first heard Reggie explaining what he wanted to do. Those had vanished as the day unfolded. It was abundantly clear that Reginald McDonald was capable of anything. It was equally clear that Jim’s relatively quiet life as an ER junkie was behind him.
* * *