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Scottish Highlands
2056 AD
Scott Campbell rested his finger on the trigger of the L115A3.
Watching. No, he’d give them a chance.
He lifted the telescopic sight of the long range rifle and viewed his quarry from his vantage point above. His Militia silently settled into place behind him. The tips of the Scottish Highland mountains glowed orange as the setting sun dimmed his view of the bandit group—about a dozen of them—setting up camp below him amid the heather and gorse, sheltered by large grey boulders. This was an unfamiliar group of simply dressed, woollen-cloaked campers. Scott repressed a shiver as the mist settled amongst the mountains and the cold from the ground beneath him seeped through his clothes, chilling his skin.
Still watching.
A scraggy-haired youth slipped saddlebags off the back of a mule and placed them next to the growing pile. An older man in torn jeans directed proceedings. A middle-aged woman lit a fire as a scrawny lass brought cooking pots and utensils from a packhorse. So far, the only stolen goods on this group of reprobates were not of the human kind. Not slavers then. Still he watched; he had to be certain. The people in his Community must be safe.
The soft murmurs of Scott’s crew settling-in surrounded him. This reconnaissance should be for nothing. At least it would give the youngsters with him some more experience. Experience never went astray.
Guilt nagged at him, but he pushed it aside. He needed a break from the compound and this exercise was an excuse—the emotions at home were growing too intense.
He glanced up at the darkening peaks ahead. The world’s trauma had barely touched the Highlands. The cities hadn’t been so lucky. It had been a long time since he’d been in Glasgow. Man, that’d been a mess. He’d walked away, past looted buildings and crumbling infrastructure, never to return.
Scott had chosen to take the first watch. His eldest boy, Rory, joined him as others hunkered down for the night behind the rocky outcrop where they had perched. Rory was a quiet lad, and smart.
“So, tell me, if ye loved someone, and one day ye will.” Scott shifted his gaze from the rifle’s sight and now looked at his son. A smile tweaked at the corner of Rory’s mouth. “If ye had a chance to be with them again, once ye’d lost them, would ye?” Scott returned to watching through the sight.
Silence was Rory’s first response. Scott didn’t mind, he would get a considered answer eventually. One worth waiting for. He slid his glance back to the eldest of his twin sons.
“Now that depends on the means of acquiring the chance.” Rory’s deep red hair seemed brown in the fading light. “Would I do anything? Maybe. Would I risk danger to do so?” He pursed his lips and scratched his wispy beard. “I’d weigh up the risk against benefit. If I was sure I would see them again, and I couldn’t imagine life without them...”
Good lad, wise enough to not give advice. A warmth settled in Scott’s chest as he turned his attention again to the camp below. The youths in the group were removing saddles and tack from the horses and mules and tying the animals to a line for the night. The young lads were rowdy and undisciplined. Scott gritted his teeth. He had to be sure these people were just one of the usual groups of desperates trying to survive in this world. Slavery was rife and nowhere was safe. Well, his Community was. And he was determined it would stay that way.
The quiet whisper of static followed by low-voiced conversation floated along to him. The lass in his Militia group on communication-duty, padded up the slope from her position with the portable radio, to their secluded shelf in the hillside, her brown buckskins and dusky-green homespun camouflaging her in the night.
“Sir, you’re wanted at the compound.” There was an urgency in her voice and a frown creased her brow as she dragged a rifle from her shoulder.
“Verra well. I’ll go back.” Scott knew what the problem would be. “You stay here with the others, Rory. If ye and your brothers need to come, I’ll send a message for ye.”
Scott strode down to where they’d tethered the horses and leaped onto his Highland Mountain horse. Scott galloped his stallion to a lather along the trail. He seemed to fly through the Western Highland night, by lochs glistening in bright moonlight, with the silent mountains gleaming as they observed his journey by their feet. The electricity-generating windmills on the hill behind the compound glowed a dull white in the moonlight, spinning like crazy long-limbed ghosts. The sentry called as Scott approached the high walls of the compound and the sturdy iron gate slid open, revealing light spilling onto the main building’s courtyard. It had once been a farmyard but now the farmhouse, animal sheds, and other buildings formed part of the complex that was the Invercharing Community—and home.
Flinging his right leg over, Scott landed beside his stallion and patted the deep-brown neck, warm and smooth under his hand. He loved this animal and would miss him.
A long shadow approached from the doorway. The doctor was quiet; her mouth a straight-line matching those on her forehead. His heart missed a beat.
“Has she gone?”
“Not yet, but soon.” Her voice was soft and full of sympathy, as she would use for those who mourn.
He ran inside.
***
PRESENT DAY
The shard of metal protruded from the man’s eye. It had pierced cornea and lens, and now the clear fluid of aqueous humor trickled down his cheek.
“Please lie down on the trolley, Mr McNabb, and we’ll have a closer look at you.” Caitlin Murray directed the sheet metal worker to Bay Four in the emergency department of Edinburgh Royal Infirmary. The sheet metal worker who had not worn his protective eye-gear. It was her last shift before her annual leave, and it had been a killer. Only one more hour to go.
Sound assaulted Caitlin on every side. The hum of professional conversation, the beeping of monitors, IV pumps and blood-pressure machines, and the emotion-packed voices of patients and their companions filled the air. With all the bays taken, patient-occupied trolleys now lined against the walls. As Caitlin went to fetch an ophthalmoscope and alert the intern to call an ophthalmologist, a bony hand grabbed her arm, digging in above her elbow, while the scent of stale urine wafted into her face.
“Nurse! Nurse!” The elderly woman had been there for hours; her daughter had left two hours previously. As there was no available bed on the wards, the elderly woman waited on a trolley. Caitlin had seen it before—a granny dump—an over-taxed carer in need of a break hoping for a hospital admission for her elderly relative. The old woman’s sunken eyes and flaccid skin, the signs of dehydration, told Caitlin the woman’s family was not coping.
“It’s okay, the ward will have a bed for you soon.” She patted the woman’s arm and then continued her journey to the equipment trolley. She passed the end of Bay Two where her team partner Jan had been working. She glanced in to see how she was going.
“But we’ve been here two hours already! And before that, we were in the waiting room for three.” The man in his late thirties spoke through gritted teeth, frustration boiled in his voice. Throughout the busy day, one demand after another had prevented Jan from attending immediately to the man’s wife in Bay Two. Caitlin had tried to help her team partner and get to Bay Two herself but without success. Over the buzz of the ED, the man’s frustration was giving birth to aggression. Jan glanced at her, pleading in her expression as the man’s verbal output took on harsher tones.
‘Want help?’ Caitlin mouthed.
Jan took a step away from the man and moved toward Caitlin, with an imperceptible nod. The man’s hands clenched into fists.
Oh, how she hated calling a Code Grey and having to bring security in.
“Sir, I’m Caitlin. What’s your name?” She would try anything to deflect his simmering anger.
“Miles.” His voice was tight.
“Miles, I’m truly sorry you and your wife have had to wait for so long.” She kept her voice gentle and even. “It’s been a busy day and we also find it concerning when we can’t get to everyone in the time frames we would like to.”
His fists, which had pressed into his sides, loosened their curl.
“I understand your frustration; we feel it too. Your nurse, Jan, is ready now.” Caitlin turned to Jan. “I’ve got something to deal with and then I’ll give you a hand, Jan.” Caitlin paused and looked directly at Miles’ wife. “We’ll be with you soon, okay?”
The woman was pale and dark lines curved under her eyes as she leaned back against the trolley’s pillow. She nodded, a slight flush beginning on her cheeks from her embarrassment at her husband’s behaviour. Caitlin felt for him; he was looking after his wife in a difficult situation.
***
AT THE END OF THE SHIFT Caitlin shut her locker door, now dressed in civvies, and with her nurse scrubs in the Change Room laundry basket.
“You handled that well, Duchess.” Jan’s warm hand rested on Caitlin’s shoulder.
Caitlin groaned inwardly. Jan meant no harm with the nickname which had stuck since they graduated over a year ago, but the twinge of guilt rose in her stomach as always.
“So where are we going for drinks? Got to celebrate you gettin’ a place in the Master of Nursing program. We’ll make you a super ED nurse yet.” Jan turned to Milla. “You comin’ for a drink to double celebrate her success and freedom from here for a couple of weeks?”
“No, I’m sorry I can’t.” The older woman grimaced. “We are meeting with our Financial Planner. Pension funds and all that. I’m thinking of retiring soon.”
“Jan, have you organised something without asking me?” Slight panic swirled in the back of Caitlin’s mind. She was about to let her friends down because of tonight’s family commitment. She took a breath, bracing herself for the inevitable scorn from Jan who constantly reminded her of all she benefitted from since she started living with her aunt and uncle. “If you have, I can’t do it. It’s my uncle’s birthday and the family doo is tonight. After all they’ve done for me, I can’t miss it.”
Jan’s shoulders drooped. “Not even a quick drink?”
“No, you know what the traffic’s like. I need to leave now.”
Milla and Jan were quiet for a few moments, Jan’s shoulders sinking deeper.
“So where will you be holidaying?” Milla broke the uncomfortable silence.
“I’m just staying at my uncle’s estate this year. Be nice to relax and ride.”
“Just going to The Estate. Only riding my horse this year. Not gallivanting around Europe. That’s so tiresome.” Jan put on a toffy accent and gave a false yawn.
Caitlin shook her head. If only Jan knew of the loss leading to her so-called life of privilege since her aunt and uncle had taken her in.
***
THE DRIVE TO HER UNCLE’S Scottish Lowland estate took the usual ninety minutes due to the traffic out of Edinburgh. Caitlin stopped at the shops in the small village right before the gatehouse to the estate. She walked past the supermarket, hardware and hunting goods store to the Post Office, where she bought a birthday card to go with the present for her Uncle Kieran. She smiled to herself as she thought of her gift for him. Once back in her car she drove the short distance before turning into the driveway next to the gatehouse and approached the main house. Her chest warmed at the sight of the large trees that dotted the neat green lawn edging the drive, which stretched its way toward the stately home. On either side of the two-storey grey-stone Georgian building, barley fields rippled like the wind on still water.
Caitlin called it a house; Jan would call it a mansion. A smile tugged her mouth. Whatever it was, it had become her home. She rented a flat in Edinburgh close to work, but this was where family lived, and that was her home. Her only family since her mother died. Uncle Kieran and Aunt May had kept a room for her, it was a comfortable place. They spoiled her, and she loved them for it.
It was late in the day when she parked her two-door run-about at the front of the house. It looked a little shabby next to her cousins’ luxury class sedans. The setting sun angled beams of gold through the front doorway and large windows, illuminating the paintings hanging on the walls of the main entrance of this stately home. Scenes of Scottish lochs hung beside portraits of past lairds. A fan of Lochaber axes glinted next to a display of claymores mounted on the bare-stone wall. Caitlin walked around the back to the kitchen door. All her cousins would be there tonight, even though none now lived at home. Family gatherings were always a large event in this house.
Caitlin entered the kitchen. The radio was on, as usual, and platters of food sat on the large kitchen table: cold meats, smoked salmon, antipasti, dips, and oat cakes. The smell of gourmet party-pies and vol-au-vents wafted from the oven. No-one was in sight. They would all be in the drawing-room already. As she left the kitchen, the news item on the radio caught her attention.
US stock markets tumble to an all-time low.
It was never a music station, always someone talking. Caitlin stepped down the corridor. The bronze statuette of a twelve-pointer stag sat on the marble hall table.
So Scottish.
The sounds of laughter floated through the open door down the hallway.
“Here she is!” Uncle Kieran’s deep voice greeted Caitlin as she entered the drawing room.
“Happy birthday Uncle Kieran.” Smiling she placed the wrapped present in his lap and returned his hug, his strong aftershave lingered in her nostrils.
“Ooh. Wonder what this is?” He unwrapped the present and laughed as he folded the paper and set it aside next to the rest of the folded, used wrapping paper.
They all laughed.
“Really cuz? A deerstalker?” Theresa’s deep blue eyes looked directly into hers. She was going to give her the ‘appropriate gift’ speech once more. Caitlin had already decided she’d ignore her. What do you give someone who has everything, really has everything?
“Now, now, Theresa. Caitlin’s presents are always fun, aren’t they, darling?” Uncle Kieran gave Caitlin a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you. I love it. I shall wear it on next week’s shoot.” He placed it on the coffee table in front of him, beside the designer label watch and cologne, and the Fabergé egg.
“So, are you coming to Majorca with us, Caitlin?” The other deep voice belonged to her favourite cousin Martin. He pushed his long fringe out of his eyes as his intense, intelligent stare fixed on her.
“No, I’m staying here.” Caitlin craned her neck to look him in the eye. “Want to keep my riding skills up.”
“Well, come say hello to your great-aunt and give me a hug.” The crisp voice came from a high-backed chair in the corner where Great Aunt Meredith sat. Caitlin stepped across the room and obediently hugged the elderly woman. Her bony frame seemed thinner, but the resemblance to her own mother remained. It brought a tightness to her chest as it did every time.
“So where is your boyfriend?”
“She doesn’t have one, Aunt Meredith.” Theresa supplied the information, as usual.
“And why not? A beautiful and intelligent young woman such as yourself should be well and truly married by now.” To Great-Aunt Meredith it was all so clear.
“Aunt Meredith, when I find the right man, I promise you’ll be the first to know.”
“You are being too fussy, girl.”
“No. The guys my age are just boys, Aunty.”
“She wants a real man.” It was Theresa once more and her derision was at full pitch.
With her back to her cousin, Caitlin rolled her eyes. Her great aunt looked up as Caitlin stood over her.
“Well, they are, Aunty Meredith, and I’ll not settle for just anyone.” She hoped they all got it. This topic was becoming tedious—again.
“You’re not coming to Majorca, but you’ll be getting your room redecorated, won’t you?” Monica piped in.
“Oh no. It doesn’t need it.”
“Yes, it does! It’s been the same pink for three years.”
“But I like pink.” Caitlin’s stomach tightened. Arguing with her cousins was sometimes futile. They were so used to having the latest and the best. And by the best, it meant the most expensive designer label. Caitlin’s stomach knotted. She couldn’t justify what her cousins always thought was theirs by right. She’d stand her ground for as long as she could. “I don’t want a change to my room. But thank you anyway.” She walked over and gave Aunt May a peck on the cheek. She had watched her closely throughout this exchange. Aunt May understood. She was wealthy, but she had come from working-class roots. Caitlin loved her family, but sometimes, like now, the cringe-o-meter was off the scale.