Restoring Time

by Jenn Lees

  RESTORING TIME: COMMUNITY CHRONICLES BOOK 4

  Copyright © 2020 JENN LEES

  All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organisations is entirely coincidental.

  This novel is written in British English.

  Cover by Fiona Jayde Media

  www.fionajaydemedia.com

  To my mother, who gave me a love of reading; an appreciation of story through her love of novels, theatre, and cinema; and encouraged me to write something every day.

  Thanks, Mum.

  Elizabeth Margaret Thompson

  (nee Fancourt)

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  PART ONE

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  PART TWO

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Sign up for Jenn Lees's Mailing List

  PART ONE

  Strange what a lack of sunlight can do.

  The high mountains surrounding their secluded glen are a darker brown, a duskier green.

  Little heather blooms its purple this year.

  The cloud-kissed mountains maintain their usual cloak of grey; now deeper; now darker.

  Clouds swirl under the weaker sun; its insipid light struggles to break through the cloak the Earth now wears.

  He walks through the field of oats; palms forward beside his thighs with fingers splayed.

  His habit at harvest time—to stroke the plants and guess the yield.

  Like sailing in a wee boat, trailing his fingers in the silky water of a still loch.

  The stalks are thigh-high but sparse. The glossy heads hanging from each thin stalk are less than last year, and the oat grass grows yet thinner.

  Rory lifts his head to the ash-filled sky, and sighs.

  It is the time of shadows.

  Chapter 1

  Invercharing Community Compound

  Two and a Half Months after Summer Solstice, 2061

  Plastic sheeting, shredded by the wind, covered the eastern window. They’d used up the last of the silver duct-tape patching the sheets of old plastic and tarps that covered the doorways and the larger windows of the Invercharing Community Compound. Hay bales lined the walls, providing extra insulation against the dispersing nuclear fallout cloud that had made its slow way up to the northern hemisphere and, hopefully, was now dissipating to nothing.

  Rory stomped through the internal walkways and halls of the compound on his way to the stables. His shoulders were tense and his neck had an ache that went right up into his head. Almost three months of being cooped up was teeth-gritting.

  The annoying thing was that, outside, the autumnal sun shone on the hills lining either side of their glen. Green, windswept mountains and high Munros—those elevations over three thousand feet—surrounded the guarded Invercharing Community Compound, its grazing lands and fields of crops. Grey granite outcroppings peeked past the last purple flowering of heather and beckoned to Rory through cracks in the plastic sheeting as he grabbed the grooming supplies and entered the stall. His stallion, Boy, was vexed and whinnying, tossing his head and stomping a hoof at the lack of exercise.

  “Surely the nuclear fallout cloud—what there was of it—should have passed by now?” Rory brushed Boy down. “That’s if it even spread up this far.”

  Siobhan was adamant they had to remain inside in case the Scottish Government’s intelligence wasn’t accurate. He heaved a sigh. Whatever the source, the Government had more links to the outside world than his isolated Community in the North Western Highlands, that was for certain.

  Every day confined to the compound meant one less day with Siobhan. The heart-wrenching, gut-churning sensations clenched Rory’s insides again. If that Bethany Watts wouldn’t let Siobhan go as soon as it was safe to travel—he didn’t care whose Prime Minister she was—

  “Rory.” Kendra spoke right behind him.

  “Och!” He spun. “Will ye desist from sneaking up on a man!”

  Kendra flinched and her eyes widened, then she took a step back. “Sorry, boss. It’s just that the natives are restless again.” She flicked her long, dark plait over her shoulder, regaining her warrior-like composure. “You needn’t be so jumpy.”

  Rory relaxed the clench of his hand on the curry brush. The bandits who’d agreed to behave themselves had arrived at the compound in response to the Invercharing Community’s message that the nuclear fallout cloud was heading in their direction. But there were bandits, and there were bandits. Four of the local bands had responded and pledged their best behaviour and settled into the outer buildings of the Community’s compound. Under guard, of course.

  Rory had tracked down Webster and his clan of nomads and offered them safe shelter and hospitality. Rory hoped it could be in exchange for the return of all the nomads had stolen from Rory’s crew on their journey from Loch Ewe—including his father’s rifle. They’d refused. With a strong company of militia behind him, Rory had forced the recovery of their goods, leaving the group of wanderers and their well-educated leader to hunker down in the caves of the mountains and hope for the best.

  That was two and a half months ago.

  Almost a lifetime.

  “So? Boss?”

  “Oh, aye. Let them go.” Rory pressed his thumb to his forehead. “I dinnae blame them. We are nae sure the air’s clear but if they want tae take the risk, I’ll no’ prevent them.”

  Kendra raised her dark brows. “Right, boss. I’ll tell them to pack up.”

  “No, it’s okay, Kendra.” Rory put the curry brush aside and pointed toward the main barn. “I’ll do it.”

  The makeshift enclosed walkway from the main buildings to the Community’s largest barn was barely holding together. The breeze coming through gaps brushed Rory’s cheek when he passed the iron sheeting and bales of hay that comprised the tunnel-like structure. Angry voices came from the barn ahead of him. In between comments holding annoyance and discontent, his brother Callum’s deep tones rumbled to Rory. Rory stepped through the door-within-a-door to the barn.

  “Och, here he is,” Callum said.

  Rory’s twin brother’s expression, in an identical fair-skinned face dusted with ginger freckles, was one of relief; his hunched shoulders eased while Rory approached.

&nb
sp; Rory turned on the packed-earth floor of the large barn where they usually sheltered stock for the winter. They had crammed goats, sheep, cows and horses into another of the large sheds to make room for the human guests. Bales of hay lined the walls and, again, tarpaulins covered any gaps. Rory faced the crowd of bandits.

  This group was a mix of previously independent bands of men and women who lived and roamed the local countryside. Although they did thieve and poach anything they could to survive and sell to each other or on the black market, they weren’t violent, brutal murderers and thieves. Rory snorted. Why they still called it the black market, he’d never know. Nothing was official. Most things were black market now, apart from what people could honestly grow and glean from the land or make for themselves, as did members of the Community System.

  “I believe ye are all wantin’ to leave,” Rory said to the weary faces before him to a rise of angry and defensive comments. He raised his hand. “Can ye decide on one representative to come and speak with me, please?”

  The shouting settled down and Micah McNair, the leader of the largest group to stay with them, stepped forward. Micah wore his hair in dreadlocks, not from a sense of fashion, more from the lack of personal grooming. He was a tall man in his late thirties who looked like he belonged on a beach. His dreads were sun-bleached, and his face tanned—although that might just have been dirt. The bandit groups lived an outdoor life for most of the year, and it had been a good summer. Out of all of them, he would be the man Rory would trust the most—if trust could come into a relationship with a bandit.

  “Micah, I’ll give each person two day’s rations and you may leave when you’re ready.”

  “Two days?” Micah double blinked. “But you guys have stores full o’ stuff.”

  “And how would you ken that, then?” Rory squinted at him.

  “We assume.” Micah stood taller, flicked his leather jacket aside, and placed a hand on his belt. This action usually exposed a weapon, now it revealed a well-worn, handmade leather accessory bereft of its usual holster and gun. Rory and his crew had confiscated all weapons on the bandits’ entry to the compound and he would ensure their return on leaving.

  “Two days’ worth o’ rations for each person when you go,” Rory reiterated. “I’ll no’ have my people short for the sake o’ yours.”

  Micah’s brow drew in, forming a line above the bridge of his nose.

  “It was out o’ the goodness of our hearts you got to be safe from the nuclear fallout cloud.” Rory spoke low and stern. “Be grateful for that, and two days of food.”

  “But what if the water’s contaminated? And everything else?”

  “Then we’re all in the same boat, aye?” Rory stared at Micah’s blue eyes, as pale as the winter sky.

  Micah turned wordlessly from Rory and stalked back to his people to spread the information.

  Xian stepped beside Rory, his arm lightly brushing Rory’s. Xian could be so quiet at times, but his presence was always reassuring.

  “What if,” Xian asked, “due to the kind hospitality we have given them in our crowded barn for over two months, some wish to stay?”

  “As in permanently?” Rory couldn’t hide the edge of doubt. “Och, we’ll immediately issue them with orders, give them chores, set a timetable for—”

  “I thought as much.” Xian chuckled. “One sure way to put them off.” He flicked his chin in the direction of the bandit groups’ leaders, who stood with their heads bent together in discussion. “They seem to have got along surprisingly well. The two and-a-bit months in each other’s company has forged relationships that you and your wife might do well to pay attention to.”

  “Aye. It may have done more good than harm, and could come in handy when the meaningful dialogue is to happen.” Rory’s stare didn’t leave the surprised and dismayed conversations of the bandits. “There are the makings of a leader in McNair. He may have the skills to pull these reprobates into line, to our benefit.”

  “Some would say they’re hard-core and it’s too late to change them.” Xian spoke in his usual soft tones. “Too many years of doing what they know how to do well. Some would advise not to let this short period of co-operation fool you. That it is pure survival under the current circumstances.”

  “Oh, aye.” Rory raised an eyebrow. “And what do you say, my Chinese philosopher?”

  “I’d give them a chance.”

  Rory tilted his head in thought while Micah gestured at the men and women surrounding him. It would be nice, for once, to see the potential for good in people. Or was he getting soft? Rory flicked a shrug. The safety of the Invercharing Community must always come first. His father had drummed that into him. It was no different now. The bandits had a lot to prove and this time of collaboration could be a start—or a fleeting aberration.

  Micah strode forward, the group of bandits parting around him as he headed for Rory.

  “We wanna go.”

  “Right now?” Rory stood straighter.

  Micah nodded.

  “Give me a wee bit o’ time to prepare your provisions, then you can all leave at once.”

  RORY STOOD IN BETWEEN the table set with various small firearms, containers of shells and shotgun cartridges, and another table covered in blades of all shapes and sizes. At the door through which the parting guests would exit, Callum and Xian stood beside barrels containing more weapons, ready to return them to their owners. Rifle butts, sword handles, and archer’s bows clanked against each other as the departing guests rummaged in the barrels for their own weapons.

  Kendra and Cèilidh portioned out non-perishable foodstuffs into sacks and handed them to the members of the bandit groups who’d lined up. Micah was last in line and stood chatting to Cèilidh. Her face was flushed and beaming as she looked up at him from beneath her eyelashes. Cèilidh was the same colouring as her brothers, with long ginger-blonde hair and blue eyes. Her cheeky comments were causing laughter to surround her as always, and Micah lingered by her.

  Och, no you don’t.

  “You’ll be wantin’ to leave before it gets dark, McNair.” Rory stepped closer to his younger sister. “Better get your people out of here now.”

  “Aye, okay then,” Micah said, dragging his eyes away from Cèilidh. “But next time we meet, Rory, I trust we’ll be civil to each other.”

  “Depends on if you behave yoursel’ or no’, McNair.”

  Micah McNair followed the last of his band out of the barn, trailing behind the other bandit groups making their way through the section of the tunnel they’d opened especially.

  Rory spun on his heel and headed to the CB radio room. He would check with Siobhan if all this nuclear weather had reached them for certain.

  And if it was clear, it would be time for her to come home.

  Chapter 2

  The Scottish Government Bunker

  LED downlighting glowed over Siobhan as she stood in her bedroom in the single-female quarters of the accommodation sector of the underground Scottish Government Bunker. Her lamp spilled soft light on her serviceable dressing table, which was now bare except for her toiletries and make-up paraphernalia. Packed bags and boxes crowded the floor at her feet.

  Apart from her single bed and functional wardrobe, the only other unpacked items were a turntable and speakers. She’d got the record player on “permanent” loan from the archives. The rock bands of the 1970s had intrigued her. Some of their names were odd, with no hint of the fantastic electric guitar riffs in the tracks she’d played, and like the one she listened to now.

  Beats thrummed through her body. Music filled her cramped room, as if the lead guitarist were strumming the strings in her presence. Vibrations bounced from the speakers and drove into her soul. The lyrics expressed exactly what she felt: she and Rory had waited so long to be together.

  Her time apart from Rory had been a hard couple of months’ anticipation of life with him. Soon they’d be together every day and she’d enjoy exploring who he was, which was fa
r more than the talented, resourceful, and very masculine man who’d attracted her attention. She recalled his reaction to the possibility of a nuclear fallout cloud moving toward Scotland and how he’d shown compassion to those even his Community would regard as enemies by offering the bandit groups shelter. His sense of fairness was admirable. He had the makings of a great man, and she relished the thought of witnessing that potential bloom.

  And beginning their intimate relationship. She couldn’t deny the promise of their sex life had its own pull.

  Somebody banged on her door. Louise opened it, entered and flicked on the main light. She mouthed something.

  “Pardon?” Siobhan lifted the stylus off the record.

  “Siobhan. It’s so loud!”

  “Oh, sorry.” Siobhan removed the record from the turntable and replaced it in its cover. She wiped her wet cheeks dry with her palm before turning to face Louise.

  “You okay, Siobhan?”

  “I’m fine,” she sniffed.

  “No, you’re not.” Louise stepped forward and hugged her. “But I’ve some good news for you.”

  “Yes, what?” Siobhan dried her eyes with the back of her hand.

  “The drone returned. The Geiger Counter strapped to it was clear. Well, just the usual background radiation readings. Our contacts in the French Government were right. It never reached us but blew to the east. So, we can safely say it’s over.”

  “I can go?” Siobhan gasped. But that would only happen if she got permission from the Prime Minister. Siobhan’s shoulders sank a little.

  “Oh, I doubt you’ll be able to leave.” Angela poked her head into Siobhan’s room, her long, red hair hanging loosely about her face.

  Siobhan sighed at her sister-in-law. Rory had warned her of Angela’s ambitious nature, and he hadn’t exaggerated either. Louise released their hug.

  “The PM wouldn’t want a valuable person such as yourself out of her sight.” Angela pushed strands of straight hair behind her ear and came to stand fully in the doorway. “What are you going to do? Rory will never leave. He loves it in his middle-of-the-bloody-nowhere-highlands. And he’s too busy being king of the compound.”