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North Western Highlands of Scotland, 2061
Sunlight glinted on the sea loch, like diamonds strewn across sapphire-blue velvet. The sun-warmed wind blew across the waters of Loch Ewe, rippling shimmers of light on this summer’s day. Murdo MacDonald squinted against the glare while the wind bristled through his greying beard as he rounded his side of the Isle of Ewe.
His white-washed crofter’s cottage came into view beside him and to the left, on the island that sat in the middle of this wide expanse of sea water. Ahead were the heads of the sea loch and past them the open ocean. Opposite his home, a large, narrow, dark vessel bumped gently against the white-posted pier of the oil depot at Drumchork. The depot, abandoned for years, its store of fuel long since depleted. The submarine filled his sights and Murdo sighed in resignation.
“So, there ye are. I’ve been waiting for ye.”
Cutting the small boat’s motor, he drifted, staying by the shoreline of his island and well away from the submarine.
Watching in silence.
The hatch of the submarine opened. A little at first, then gradually to its fullest extent, clanging open on the metal surface of the submarine. A man in a khaki uniform emerged; his bald head and face were a dark sunburned-red. The submariner continued his journey across the vessel’s hull, scanning his surroundings as he went.
Murdo ducked further into the cabin of his small motorboat. He would avoid any contact. His brother had drilled into him the dangers of exposure to radiation. His eldest brother—oh so many years ago.
Others followed behind the first submariner, their skin a similar red slough. Vomiting and short periods of rest punctuated their slow journeys across the vessel’s deck, onto the pier and then along the old road.
Murdo’s mouth dried.
So, it had begun.
***
Achnasheen, North Western Scottish Highlands
RORY PULLED HIS STALLION up sharp. It was times like this, after climbing the horses up a mountain, that he gave thanks for his father’s foresight in breeding from Highland Mountain horses. Rory’s stallion panted and snorted, sides white with foam, jangling tack as he tossed his head. Leather saddles creaked beside him, alerting Rory to his team’s arrival of at the summit of Bhienn Fionn.
On top of this Munro, the peaks of lower mountains, those less than three thousand feet, surrounded Rory and his crew. The fresh wind blew the grass flat over grey rock-covered hills and funnelled its way down to Loch Maree, which reflected the bright blue sky and nestled itself between the elevations of the Finnach mountain range. Rory gazed out at this land—his place on this planet—took a breath of the Highland air and smiled to himself.
This was where his soul sang. Whatever went on in the wild world out there, he was content to be here—and nowhere else.
Below him was the old village of Achnasheen and the roads leading into it from the west and east. Loch Finnach was to the north. Rory looked past Loch Maree; far in the distance was Loch Ewe, the sea loch leading out to The Minch, the body of water between the mainland of Scotland and the Isle of Lewis.
Aye. An ideal lookout.
“Wow, it’s so clear we can see for miles.” Kendra sat on her horse beside him, her bow over her shoulder and a quiver full of arrows by her side. Her long, dark hair tied in its usual plait fell over her weapon. She was astute, amiable, and good in a fight. He’d trust her with his back any day.
“Aye. Excellent visual today. It will be here then.” Rory slipped out of the saddle, his father’s long range rifle slung over his shoulder.
The wind caught Rory’s dark red hair and blew it across his face. It was long enough now to tie back. He lifted his saddlebags, easily taking the weight of the supplies in them.
Callum dismounted and followed suit, his Beretta in its holster, and his Buck knife in its sheath hung from his belt. Callum wore clothing made by the community: hand-woven wool cloth shirts and buckskin leather leggings. Everyone did, as manufactured clothing was a thing of the past and a rarity. Rory regarded his identical twin brother’s tightly cropped hair, vivid blue eyes, and tall, muscled frame. They were the same, but not the same. Mandy knew it for certain now.
Things had been strained between himself and Callum, but not for long. A bond such as theirs was hard to disrupt, even with matters of the heart. It was eight months since Rory had returned from the past with the beautiful young woman, hoping to have a relationship with her after rescuing Mandy from the slave-trade.
But no.
The same, but not the same. Mandy had found her love in his twin.
Rory brushed thoughts of Mandy aside and began to focus on the task at hand—setting up a temporary camp to prepare for constructing a permanent strategic outpost. He and George Stobbart, the head of the Militia, had decided to extend their security due to the persistent raids of the many bandit groups that roamed nearby and were now becoming bolder. They would build another closer outpost halfway between here and home, the Invercharing Community.
“So, we collect rocks then?” Xian dismounted his horse, landing without a sound. Bouncing. The agility of this young Chinese man amazed Rory. Xian had taught Rory some Gung-Fu in the twelve months since he’d joined the Community. Rory loved it. Its strict discipline had given him a sense of security and its free-flowing forms in the exercises were relaxing and invigorating at the same time.
Therapeutic even.
He’d needed therapeutic after returning from the past. He often woke in a cold sweat with the vivid memory of his father’s death, as if he were reliving it. Visions of his father holding his mother close, his blood covering them both, whispering into her ear as his life left him.
Don’t go there now. Focus on the task at hand.
“Aye. We’ll dry stone our fort,” Rory clipped his answer.
“And you know how to do that, don’t you Rory?” Rory’s younger brother, Brendan, stood with his head cocked. Sandy-haired and blue-eyed, he took after their father, Scott.
“Well, we copy what they’ve done along the road there.” Rory gestured to the road below the mountaintop on which they stood. “Should nae be difficult.”
“My dad always said it was an art form,” Kendra said.
“We’ll be artists then.” Rory shook his head. He was a soldier. There were many skills people had to relearn since the stock market crashed just over forty years ago. The ensuing chaos and disruption to twenty-first-century life had removed most modern technology from people’s lives. It had forced them back to basics. Never knowing this technology himself, it always amused Rory when his younger brother Murray, Brendan’s twin, tried to restore the old computers which had originally arrived with the early members of the Community.
The rest of his team dismounted and gathered the grey rocks that lay scattered on the ground at the top of this mountain. They would also use the rocks which formed a cairn left by hill walkers in the past. No one walked hills for pleasure these days.
“Um...” Brendan had the binoculars as it was his turn to be the lookout.
“Um what?” Rory’s head flicked toward him at his tone.
Hesitating, Brendan looked away from the lenses and glanced at Rory. Brendan’s expression sent the chill of a cool mountain breeze to Rory’s guts. Rory dropped the rocks he held, strode over to Brendan and grabbed the high-powered binoculars from his hands.
“Where?” His voice was terse, expecting to see riders—bandits—but there was nothing.
“Directly ahead.” Brendan pointed. Rory followed the line of his arm. A narrow valley ran the other side of Bhienn Fionn. A long loch sat at the base of the mountain opposite and a dilapidated road cut the valley through the middle. Amongst the grass of this undulating glen lay a blob of darker green, vaguely human in form. Immobile.
“Okay. I need a volunteer to ride—" Rory began.
“I’ll go.” Kendra’s voice floated past his ear as she made her way to her horse and slid into the saddle. “I’ll let you know if you need to come.”
“Keep an eye out—"
“For bandits. I know.” Kendra flicked her long black plait over her shoulder.
As Kendra rode down the mountain Rory turned to the task at hand—dry stoning. There shouldn’t be too much of an art form to it. They needed to build a walled lookout soon. Rory shovelled the area they would build in and dug down to bedrock, which wasn’t far. The structure would sit on this solid base. Rory soon discovered rocks have a mind of their own and need to fit together if they are going to stay together. Callum seemed to have the knack. After an hour of his brother’s careful selection and placing of stones, the beginnings of a circular wall had emerged.
“Kendra’s waving.” Brendan lowered the binoculars and held them out to Rory. “She wants us to go there.”
“Right, you stay here, Brendan, and mind our equipment. Keep your weapon handy,” Rory said. “You guys come with me.” Rory directed the order at Callum and Xian. The fact Kendra wanted him meant it was serious. She wasn’t one to be melodramatic.
They picked their way down the steeper side of Bhienn Fionn and then galloped in the direction of Loch Maree where Kendra now waited on her horse. The khaki-clad form lay in the grass nearby.
Rory slipped his leg over the saddle and jumped off his horse.
“No. Don’t go any closer.” Kendra stayed on her horse. “It’s not good.”
“I’m no’ afraid of a dead body, Kendra.” Rory continued toward the inert human.
“No! Rory please, stop.” Kendra’s tone held alarm.
Rory stopped mid-stride. “Why?”
“I’m not sure but I think he died of radiation sickness.”
“What makes you think that?” Rory blinked, trying to concentrate, and not let the implications of this stir up any alarm.
“He’s got no hair. Not even eyebrows or eyelashes.” Kendra pointed to the man’s face. “And his skin is so red. Like really, really, bad sunburn but, well, it’s never that sunny here to cause such sunburn.”
“Why are you standing back?” Callum made to go toward the dead man. “It’s not contagious is it?”
“No! Seriously. Don’t go any closer.” Kendra held up her hand, signalling for Callum to stop. “He’s radioactive. I think. Oh, I wish Chris was here, she would know more—being medical. And I remember your mother talking about it, a long time ago.”
Callum stepped back to Rory, now both were well away from the dead man.
“He’s Asian,” Kendra said.
“Where’s he from?” Rory asked Xian.
“I don’t know.” Xian set his hands on his belt next to his gun holster and his short sword. “Why are you asking me?”
Rory rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, I’m no’ meanin’ to be racist or anything but I’ve never been far out of these Highlands, let alone out o’ Scotland. But you came from a more cosmopolitan place than me, Xian. Can you shed some light on what we’re dealing with here?” Rory peered closer at the body. “Is there a badge on his uniform? It might be a flag of his country. If we had the binoculars, I could—"
“There’s someone up there,” Kendra shouted as she looked at the cairn on the top of Bhienn Fionn.
Rory spun. A group of figures were up on the peak with Brendan. They were moving rapidly, and it wasn’t friendly. Cold clutched Rory’s spine as he strode to his horse and flew into the saddle. He’d left the youngest alone, believing his proximity would be a deterrent to any bandits.
He was wrong.
Callum and Xian had followed suit and they soon kicked their horses to a gallop. They made their way up to the would-be fort but the climb, being steep in places, slowed them down and the top of the Munro was empty by the time they crested the final rise. Weapons and food stores were gone.
No Brendan.
Rory’s heart sank, his mind spinning. He peered down the mountain, over the far side near the cairn. There was nothing.
“They must have gone that way,” Callum voiced Rory’s thoughts. “We would’ve seen them on our way up otherwise.”
“Aye. So down we go.” Without hesitation, Rory kicked his stallion down the steep descent. The bandits had his baby brother and they would not get away with it.
The others followed, stones and dirt flying. Skidding a zig-zag route down the side of the mountain, Rory led them to the forest which edged its base, and halted.
Still no one in sight.
“Ssh. Listen.” Rory pointed to the trees.
The sound of horses within the forest reached them. Here and there a human voice drifted out. The bandits were in the distance but still among the trees.
“Quietly now. They may have a base camp. We’ll sneak up on them. No going in guns blazing. It’s our wee brother in there. The bandits won’t hesitate to shoot back. They have all our spare ammo, after all. Nobody’s to be shot today.” Rory dismounted and tied his horse to the tree at the edge of the forest. The others did the same.
They crept, weapons at the ready, toward the human sounds in the forest ahead. The bandits were amateurs, announcing their presence with whoops and yells.
What? Did they think we wouldn’t follow them?
It disgusted Rory. His stomach churned at the thought of what they might do to Brendan. He quickened his pace.
They were soon within sight of the bandit’s makeshift camp. Rory ducked behind the nearest tree, confident of his team doing the same. He peered around the side of the Scots pine’s orange-brown trunk and counted five men and a woman. The group of desperates had tied Brendan to a sapling near the campfire in the centre of their hide-out.
The bandits were busy sorting the food supplies and ammunition they’d taken from the top of the mountain. No one watched the hostage.
Distracted. Now was the time to attack. Rory would make his plan known.
Silent weapons.
Rory turned to Kendra to indicate she use her bow. She’d already notched an arrow.
Xian had his throwing knives in his hands and his sword at his side ready as always. And the man himself was a silent weapon.
Lethal. Deadly.
Rory unsheathed his Buck knife and placed the British Army standard long range rifle on the ground next to him. He was more comfortable as a sniper and might get some shots off before anyone noticed. Callum held his Beretta and would wait till Rory gave the signal to shoot.
Xian indicated he would go forward and start the rescue.
Rory nodded.
Xian, silent as a cat and just as graceful, slipped his way through the trees to stand near the group whooping their delight over their bounty. Xian’s wrists flicked, and corresponding expressions of shock appeared on the faces of those bandits now pierced by his knives. One to the ribs of a man, and one to the shoulder of the woman.
The others scattered, grabbing for guns and knives in their retreat to their mounts. Whinnies of horses and the cracking of broken branches punctuated their flight as they rushed out of the forest.
With the bandits’ attention now away from his brother, Rory snuck around the other side of the camp to Brendan near the campfire. Brendan opened his mouth to speak. Rory put a finger to his lips to shush him. He would attract any bandits not occupied by Xian. Rory reached forward with his hunting knife to cut Brendan’s bonds. Behind him came the sound of footsteps. Rory’s hackles rose.
Rory turned to meet a fist on its way to his belly. He tightened his core, absorbing the blow. He regained his balance as his focus sharpened. Heart thudding. Rory lunged with his knife at his assailant’s abdomen. The man’s forearm blocked Rory’s thrust, bone on bone. Grating. The man grabbed Rory’s wrist to disarm him of his hunting knife. Rory kicked out between the man’s legs and to the side. His opponent now balanced precariously on one leg. An easy knock over. The bandit crashed to the ground. Flat on his back. Continuing the forward motion Rory landed with a knee on the man’s chest. With a thump, it forced the wind out of the bandit.
In the heat of the moment, a surreal calm surrounded Rory. He’d never been so close to a bandit, nor at the point of decision in which he now found himself.
Should he kill him?
In his mind’s eye, the Chief Council members line up in a row and face this same man he holds on the ground beneath his knee.
They look at the bandit, expressions stern.
One speaks.
“...for the crimes of kidnap and robbery we sentence you...”
The vision and flash of calm faded as thudding returned to Rory’s temples. The man struggled. Rory punched hard onto the man’s mouth. Teeth ground onto lips. Rory’s knuckles flashed a sharp pain into his right hand. The man’s eyes closed as he lost consciousness.
Rory took a long pull of air. Fights were over in a second, but the adrenalin hung around a while longer. He held his hunting knife with a trembling hand.
On the other side of the camp, Xian spun and rose in the air as the side of his foot connected with the temple of a man twice his height. The man crashed to the ground. All the other bandits had fled except for the woman with one of Xian’s throwing knives in her shoulder. She sat on the ground, wailing.
Callum and Kendra emerged from the trees and walked toward him as he cut Brendan’s bonds.
“Everyone okay?” Rory directed his question to each member of his crew.
“Didn’t fire a shot,” Callum answered first.
“I loosed an arrow or two. Better go find them.” Kendra slumped away.
“Just check those amateurs are no’ coming back,” Rory ordered.
Over the other side of the camp, the woman’s wails continued as Xian squatted by her.
“You okay, Xian?”
“Pardon?” Xian cupped a hand behind his ear. “I can’t hear you over the noise.” He’d tied the woman’s arms behind her back, causing an increase in her volume.
“You bastards will pay for this!” she said through her wails.
“No, you and your friends will pay for this.” Rory made his way over to Xian after using Brendan’s cut bonds to tie up the man he’d rendered unconscious. The man with the knife in his ribs lay sprawled near Xian.
Dead.
Rory tossed the other bonds to Xian, who tied the hands of the man he’d knocked out.
“We better take these back to the Community. All our equipment’s gone from the cairn, so we’ll take all of this with us.” Rory pointed to the goods strewn around the bandit’s campsite. “And get you and your friends some medical attention,” he said to the woman who held her shoulder in silence.
Kendra removed the knife from the woman’s shoulder and applied a pressure bandage. The woman’s gasp followed by her scream assaulted Rory’s ears.
“Just in case she has any guts about her,” Kendra said as she pushed the semi-conscious woman up and onto the saddle where she would ride behind her. “And decides she’ll stab someone with the knife on the way home.”
Rory suppressed a smile.
That’s what you’d do, Kendra.
The unconscious man was coming around. Rory had placed him belly-down across his saddle—not a comfortable position. Rory could muster no compassion. The bandit had taken his wee brother hostage and stolen their gear; he didn’t deserve comfortable.
Rory mounted behind his captive and walked his horse out of the screen of the forest as a quiet buzz in the sky came closer.
“Blast those bloody drones. Have we no’ had enough o’ them? The Government is nosey enough to bother us with these, but not to come and see us themselves!” Rory slipped his long range rifle from over his shoulder and rested its butt against his right shoulder, holding its weight with his left hand. Not that steady, but it would do. He took a breath and aimed, let the air out slowly, and squeezed the trigger. The drone exploded, and its pieces showered to the ground.
***
THE HIGH GATES OF THE Invercharing Community came into view. A fence surrounded the Community Compound’s buildings, greenhouses, and vegetable gardens. The high mountains that skirted the valley were grass-green dotted with a patchwork of brown bracken fern and heather coming into purple flower. The wider end of this otherwise narrow glen in between two mountain ranges provided broad meadows for crops and grazing. Sheep roamed the hills, cattle sat on the vivid green grass chewing cud, and horses wandered and frolicked in fenced areas near the main buildings. On the closer hills, windmills spun lazily, generating the power that supplied their compound’s frugal requirements. Beside each windmill farm, the usual sentinel stood watch, guarding the precious power source. The Community wasted nothing, utilising every resource to the furthest degree. In his saddlebags, Rory had the empty shells they’d found in the bandit’s camp. The younger members of the Militia would aim to make more bullets from the less damaged ones.
“If the guard in the watchtower has done his duty and reported to the medical team we’re arriving with injured,” Rory said to Callum riding beside him. “There’s goin’ tae be a stir in the medical centre.”
“Aye, and we’re a wee bit early. The other crews will still be out settin’ up the outposts.” Callum pulled his horse to a halt.
Christine rushed out the front gate, her light-blonde hair tied back and her expression full of concern. On seeing Kendra riding in unharmed, her shoulders relaxed, and a smile brightened her usually stern face. She approached the injured man Rory had helped to dismount his horse. Christine’s natural ability with medical things amazed Rory. His mother, Caitlin, had taught Christine herself, and though Christine had never attended a medical school, because there weren’t any, she was a doctor—no doubt about it.
A guard helped Christine take the injured into the medical centre, past the main building and off the track which led to the newer accommodation blocks, and on to the stables and animal shelter area at the back of the compound. The main farmhouse was now a Chief Council meeting room and accommodation. Newer accommodation blocks sat beside the old barns converted into multipurpose areas. On this late afternoon, other members of the Militia were practicing hand-to-hand combat in the larger hall.
Sheds echoed with the clack clunk of a loom weaving cloth; young girls sat outside in the sun spinning the yarn. Next to them, chatting happily as they squelched their bare feet in the sludge-wet used paper, two boys on paper-making duty held on to the edge of the wooden barrel as they prepared the pulp which they would pour into frames and dry in the sun.
Rory walked his horse beside Callum as they both headed toward the stables and smithy’s forge. As they passed an animal shelter where a young lad mixed a pile of sheep dung and horse manure into the compost heaps, the definite scent of farmyard permeated the air.
Brendan approached Rory and Callum.
“Thanks.” Brendan looked up at them both.
A pang of warmth shot through Rory at the sight of his younger brother.
“No, Brendan. I’m sorry for putting you in danger.” Rory grabbed him and pressed him tight against himself, the young man’s soft light-brown hair tickled his face.
“It’s okay. You didn’t know. Besides, you rescued me.” Brendan’s voice muffled into Rory’s shirt.
“Aye well, that’s my job. Now Dad’s not here.”
The sound of running footsteps came toward them. Mandy headed for Callum; she was slim and beautiful, and her long wavy hair flew out behind her. Once beside Rory, Mandy embraced his twin, her pregnant belly protruding to show its six months’ size.
Rory held back an ache now in the centre of his chest. He was happy for his brother, truly. But it still hurt. He might’ve had love with this tall, attractive young woman.
Rory disengaged his hug from Brendan and walked on, letting out a deep but quiet sigh. He’d compensated by throwing himself into his role in the Militia. Love didn’t seem to work out for him. His parents had had a wonderful love, but he’d rarely seen anything like it anywhere else. No, that was a one-off. And maybe love wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.
They continued walking their horses to the stables. As they passed the mess hall, the aroma of chicken casserole hit Rory’s nostrils and his stomach grumbled. Christine ran from behind Rory, passing him to approach Kendra, who walked her horse in front of him. She wrapped her arms around Kendra in a tight embrace, their lips meeting briefly. The women grinned at each other, then Christine scurried back inside to the medical centre. Rory swallowed and kept walking.
Aye, everyone had someone.
Except for him.
Sure, there were plenty of women in the Community. Nice women. But he didn’t have a chemistry with anyone. And he wouldn’t be with just anyone. His nostrils flared.
Stuff it.
Rory had had enough of wondering. He’d just forget about holding out any hope there would be love in his life. He was a soldier like his father. And sometimes, like his father, soldiers had a short life.
“What have you brought home, Rory?” George Stobbart, his mentor and friend, stepped next to him. George’s lined face wore a furrowed brow below grey hair, but his shoulders remained sturdy, reflecting a life of military service, first in the British Marines, then as the leader of the Community’s Militia.
“Aye, well. I thought justice should rule the day. Let the Chief Council deal with them. They’re a group of amateurs, desperates. Maybe they just need a chance,” Rory answered.
“Hmm. There’s a thought now. Well, here’s another. I’ve just heard on the citizen band radio from the small Community in Loch Ewe. There is a submarine sitting by their pier and it seems to be in some difficulty. They want us to go help.” George looked pointedly at Rory.
“You mean, you want me to go help.”
George squinted as he eyed Rory over his glasses. “Aye, son. You’re the only one I can trust. It is a submarine after all. Could be extremely dangerous.”
“We found a dead man.” Rory ran his tongue over his lower teeth. “Kendra thinks he died of radiation sickness. I need to speak to Christine when she’s done with the prisoners. Connected do you think? Submarines are nuclear-powered, aren’t they?”
“Some are,” George tilted his head. “Was he military? Wearing a submariner’s uniform? Where’s the body?”
“Och, we left it there. Got distracted.” Rory pointed to his younger brother Brendan now joined by his twin, Murray.
Rory smiled at how different these twin brothers were. Brendan was outdoorsy, like himself. And Murray...well, Murray was a nerd. A brilliant nerd. The Time Machine could not have happened without his mathematical genius, but he’d never tell him that. Murray had been his co-conspirator in their efforts to protect their father, and consequently their mother, in the past. He sighed; still not sure how successful it had been. They hadn’t disrupted the future, the now present, but his father, Scott, had died in their successful attempt at saving his mother and his younger sister Kelly, from slavers. Rory released a long slow breath.
“You all right, son?” George’s expression held concern.
“Aye, I’m fine.” Rory shook himself out of his reverie. “Been a long day, ‘tis all.”
“So tomorrow you’ll take a team and make your way to Loch Ewe?”
“Aye.” Rory brightened. “Lovely weather for the beach.”
