by Jenn Lees
Angela was right. Rory loved his mountains and clear blue sky, even though it was often grey, and the mountains shrouded in mist. It was his home, and he belonged to the outdoors. Rory wouldn’t survive underground. Siobhan must find a way of getting to him. Recollections of fresh mountain breezes and Rory’s warm, strong hands flitted through her thoughts, then tears welled in the corners of her eyes and her throat tightened.
Angela remained in the doorway while Siobhan groped for a hankie on her dresser.
“For someone interested in politics, diplomacy isn’t your strong point, is it, Angela?” Louise shut the door in Angela’s face.
“It’s okay, Louise. But thanks.” Siobhan dabbed her eyes and inspected her face in the mirror. “I’m going to see Bethany.” She wiped her face and began to reapply her make-up.
“Ah, I don’t think she’s in her office,” Louise said.
Siobhan turned. “Where is she?”
Louise glanced at the floor.
“What?” Siobhan paused with her make-up brush still poised.
Louise raised her head. “She’s visiting Major McLellan in his cell.”
“Antony? What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing.”
“Why are you so cagey about it?” Siobhan narrowed her eyes.
Louise didn’t answer.
“Tell me.”
“Oh, okay. She sees him a lot.” Louise’s cheeks were rosy.
“What do they have to talk about?” Siobhan replaced the foundation on the dresser, she was only half done but Louise’s reaction was troubling.
Louise shrugged, her cheeks now bright red.
Siobhan was sure Antony’s opinions on Community life wouldn’t change. According to him, Community people were anti-government anarchists who would incite revolt at any sign of the Government’s return. This past year, it had been the aim of the Bunker’s occupants to restore the Government’s rule over all of Scotland once more. The nuclear submarine issue had become the impetus for accelerating the reinstallation of the Government’s leadership. And an opportunity to meet the different groups of citizens who lived up top.
“So, Antony still has the ear of the PM, even though he’s incarcerated in the depths of the Bunker.”
Louise didn’t reply but stood in the doorway studying the floor.
The Government had imprisoned Antony McLellan for his crimes committed while dealing with the submarine leaking radioactivity up top. He was obviously still spilling his negativism and inaccurate beliefs about Community life and Community people to Bethany.
Siobhan was certain her husband, Rory, would be the main topic of conversation. Her nails dug into her palms.
No, Antony having the PM’s ear was not a good thing.
Turning back to her reflection, Siobhan quickly finished her make-up and checked her French roll was still in place then put on her high heels and click-clacked down the smooth concrete corridor to the office sector of the Bunker, leaving Louise behind in the single-female quarters. LED lights flicked on at her approach, flicking off again as she passed and leaving a dark passage in her wake. The passageway was lined with paintings and prints of old Scotland, pre-Crash, and when she finally got to where she headed, the PM’s secretary pointed her to the chair beneath a painting of the previous parliament house in Holyrood.
Siobhan sat and listened to the muffled hum of the air conditioners and dehumidifiers. Government staff, whom her father had labelled public servants, attended diligently to their duties in the surrounding offices while she waited twenty minutes outside the PM’s office before Bethany walked along the corridor.
“Bethany.” Siobhan rose from the chair. The Prime Minster of Scotland strode past without a glance and opened the door to her office. “May I speak with you?”
“Siobhan, come in.” Bethany’s tone lacked its usual warmth as she stepped into her room, avoiding eye contact with Siobhan.
Siobhan followed, swallowing down the slight sense of dread that Bethany’s tone had evoked. Bethany walked around her desk and sat in her high-backed office chair. Her dark, tailored skirt suit sat well on her shapely figure, though her blouse was misbuttoned at the top.
Odd. Bethany was always fastidious about her attire.
Bethany straightened the neat pile of paperwork on her desk then finally looked up at Siobhan.
“What can I do for you?”
“You’ve heard the radiation-alert has cleared and the cloud hasn’t reached this far north?”
Bethany nodded.
“I wish to be with my husband. At the Invercharing Community. I’d like to leave as soon as possible.”
For some moments, Bethany stared back at Siobhan without speaking. Her mouth tightened; her hands absently fiddling with a pen beside the stack of papers she’d neatened.
Siobhan raised an eyebrow. “Bethany?”
“Siobhan, I need to tell you that the Government doesn’t recognise your marriage to Rory Campbell.”
“Pardon?” Siobhan couldn’t hold the incredulity from her voice.
So, Bethany is heading down that path, is she?
“Whether or not you acknowledge it is of no consequence, Bethany—”
“Prime Minister,” Bethany spoke low.
“Prime Minister.” Siobhan crossed her arms and endeavoured to enunciate every syllable. “In that case, I request permission to resume diplomatic talks with the diverse groups of Scottish citizens who live outside of the Scottish Government Bunker. I believe consultation and information gathering will be constructive to our steps toward the reinstatement of a fully functioning government that has the true needs of its people at heart. I shall commence with the Communities out there, those who adhere to the Community Model developed and encouraged by the late Caitlin Murray-Campbell. I will begin with the Invercharing Community, where my husband resides.”
“No.”
“Pardon?” Siobhan’s mouth remained open and she leaned closer to Bethany’s desk.
Bethany held her stare. Siobhan closed her mouth and stood straighter, determined to be ready for whatever objections Bethany was about to proffer.
“No. I do not give permission.”
“Why?” A sense of disbelief whirled in the back of Siobhan’s thoughts. “Why not liaise and communicate with our people out there? Our Scottish people whom we desire to be on our side?”
Bethany’s lips were a thin line. “Not yet, Siobhan. We need to know those groups will be on our side.”
“How can you be certain of that if you don’t interact with them?”
Bethany picked up the pen on her desk and began clicking its top—over and over.
Siobhan scratched her neck. “Prime Minister, they are real men and women with intelligence and skills. They’re not the wild, ignorant barbarians into which the inhabitants of the world up top were meant to have devolved.” She planted her palms on Bethany’s desk. “They’re nothing like our teachers said they would be, Beth—Prime Minister.”
Bethany screwed her mouth and continued clicking the pen, but didn’t answer.
“Prime Minister, I’m ideally positioned to be an ambassador for the Government, if you wish to see it that way. I can be there among them, get the feel for where they’re at. What they’re really thinking, not just what we assume they think.”
Or what Antony tells you they think.
Siobhan stood tall.
Bethany stayed silent.
“You owe it to the people of the Invercharing Community who have done Scotland a great service and rescued us from annihilation.” Siobhan slapped Bethany’s desk. “Why are you being so resistant?”
“With our assistance, Siobhan,” Bethany growled, fixing her glare on Siobhan’s hand where it pressed onto her desk. “They successfully neutralised a nuclear radiation issue with our invaluable equipment and trained personnel—two of whom we lost.”
Siobhan removed her hand from Bethany’s desk. “I will be an advocate for the Government—”
; “If you have married someone in the Community System, then your opinions and sentiments are biased.”
“But if I’m one of them, surely they’ll feel more accepted and akin to us. So, no more of this us and them. Just us.”
The pen clicking continued—gaining in rapidity. Siobhan’s pulse beat in time with it.
“Bethany, I’m asking you as a friend. Please, may I go and be with my husband?”
“I have already informed you, Siobhan, the Scottish Government does not recognise your marital union with Rory Campbell and, therefore, is under no obligation to support it by facilitating access to your so-called spouse.”
“But—”
“This meeting is over.” Bethany bent her head, engrossed in the file under her nose.
“What has Antony said to you?” Siobhan’s question rang out in the quiet office.
Bethany’s nostrils flared though she didn’t look up. Her shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath. “Do you wish me to call security?”
Siobhan blinked, her skin cooling. She stepped back from the invisible wall now before her.
“Very well. Good evening, Prime Minister.” Siobhan turned and strode to the communication centre.
Chapter 3
Invercharing Community
It was another seven days before Rory was able to hail the Government Bunker on the CB radio. The static was severe and only cleared after a week of trying.
“May I speak with Siobhan Campbell, please? Over.” Rory took a breath and made himself sit down while he waited.
Who was that you wished to speak to, sir? Over. The radio handler at the Government Bunker asked.
“Siobhan Campbell. Over.”
There’s no one here by that name sir. Over.
Rory let out an expletive.
“Och, may I speak with Siobhan Kensington-Wallace? You have one of those, do ye not? Over.”
Yes, sir. I will get her for you. Over.
Moments of silence, punctuated by static, filled the communication area of the smaller hall where they kept the CB radios. Callum came into the hall and ran up to Rory.
“Mandy’s in labour.” Concern mixed with the smile stretching Callum’s face.
“Och, good luck.” Rory stood, pulled his twin into himself and held tight. “You’re officially relieved of any duty.” He released Callum and winked as the radio jumped to life.
Rory!
“Siobhan! I’m sorry I have nae been able to reach you for a while. The interference has been bad lately. Must be that wee cloud. Over.”
No, it wouldn’t be. We’ve tested the atmosphere and there are normal readings. It’s all clear, and if our friends in France are correct, it didn’t get this far north. You can move about now and let your guests go. Over.
“Och. They went a week ago. Cabin fever. Could nae wait a minute longer to be away. I miss you. When are you coming home now it’s safe to travel? Over.”
Static crackled for half a minute.
“Siobhan?”
That’s the thing, Rory. The PM won’t let me leave. Over.
Rory closed his eyes and rested his forehead on his arm leaning on the radio.
“So, Bethany-stuck-up-Watts will nae let you go. I’m comin’ to get you! Over.”
Static once more.
“Siobhan? Do you no’ want me to? Over.”
Oh, Rory I want you to, more than anything. Over.
“I’m coming. Och! I have a couple o’ things to organise but I’ll be there as soon as I can. In a week maybe, if I push the horses. That’s too long as far as I’m concerned. But you be packed. Over.”
Bethany won’t be happy. Over.
“Her happiness is none of my concern. You be ready to leave. Over.”
Okay. Her voice was softer.
“What did you say? Over.”
This isn’t a private conversation, Rory. I love you. Over.
“I love you, too. See you in a week. Over.”
What was going on that she was bothered about the people around her hearing her husband was coming to the Bunker? Bethany Watts was as much trouble as he’d anticipated. Maybe more. The sooner he got there the better.
RORY HANDED OVER THE militia business to George Stobbart, then took his saddlebag of clothes and provisions to the stables and prepared Boy for the journey.
“You know I’m coming with you now Callum’s almost a father?” Xian threw his saddlebags on the bale of hay next to the stall where Rory was checking the tack he used for Boy. Fine motes of hay floating past tickled Rory’s nose.
“Oh aye, Xian, I was countin’ on it,” Rory said. “I asked Kendra to stay here now that Callum will be busy being a new father. Need a level-headed soldier to assist George with the militia.”
“The recent sojourn in our company should have left the bandits with a favourable view of us. Our local ones, at least,” Xian observed. “This trip should be an eventless one.”
“Hmm. I hope they’ve passed the good word about us to those further south. Have nae been Edinburgh way for a while.” Like, my last journey through time. “Probably nothing like I’ve ever seen it.”
“My parents were there when they blew the bridges. They said it was devastating.” Xian busied himself with a saddle. “That’s when they left the city. I’ve been to Edinburgh once since then. I know how to get to Arthur’s Seat.”
“Oh, excellent, my friend. Still not a safe place, though. I intend to be well armed.”
“Which horse will you choose for your lady-wife?” Xian pressed his lips together, attempting to hide his amusement.
“A placid one.” Rory grimaced. “Siobhan will need a few more lessons before she masters riding.”
RORY RODE OUT OF THE Invercharing Community Compound with Xian trailing a packhorse and another gelding for Siobhan. Sunrise tinged the horizon a soft magenta to his left. The guard on early watch opened the large iron gate. The renovated farmhouse and extensive buildings surrounded by high fencing fell behind, and a wee way along, they passed the Community’s meadows filled with stock now free to graze.
Most of the fields of crops had gone to seed after three months of neglect with Community members forced to abandon outside work. Now groups of workers who strolled behind Rory and Xian, turned off the road into these fields ready for a hard day’s work. Before Rory left, he’d ordered the harvesting of crops not run to seed or ruined by rain. Now they knew that the radiation hadn’t reached them, they would gather all the crops they could. Food was food.
“I estimate one week’s travel,” Rory said. “We could push the horses to a fast walk, but any more and we risk them going lame, which would ruin our chances of a decent ride home.” Rory glanced at Xian. “I don’t plan on staying in the Government Bunker for long.”
“Road trip,” Xian said.
“What?”
“In the good old days, guys used to go on road trips to bond.” Xian raised his brows and cocked his head. “What do you say?”
“We’re already bonded, Xian. What you and I have been through together is more than bonding.”
“Yes. Did I ever thank you for saving the world?”
“It was nae me. It was Angus. And not the world, just Scotland.” Rory sucked the cool crisp mountain air deep into his lungs then it fogged around his face with his outward breath. “Well, maybe the only part of the world that I’m concerned with.”
They rode through their long, narrow valley. Steep, green-sided mountains funnelled a river into a loch whose glassy sheen reflected the silvery sky above. Clouds swirled up high, and an eagle cried as it scoured the glen. They passed forest to their right. Leafy cool emanated from it along with the earthy scent of leaf litter. Rustling followed by the beat of many hooves told Rory deer were nearby.
The clouds moved closer as they travelled the morning. Misty rain hit Rory’s face and covered their surroundings in a white haze. To their left, moss covered grey drystone walls edged the trail. These boundaries had remained intact for centuries,
in contrast to the deteriorated roads and bridges of more recent history. The leaves were turning; oaks browning, birches becoming yellow-gold, and maples flames of red. Droplets gathered on the leaf tips as fine rain soaked Rory’s gloves and Boy’s mane.
“The men and women of the Chief Council are ageing.” Xian broke Rory’s observations with one of his own.
Rory scanned the sides of the road then flicked a brief glance at Xian.
“They all look to you as their natural leader. You know that, don’t you, Rory?”
A heaviness settled on Rory’s shoulders. He didn’t answer Xian.
“And not because you’re a child of Scott Campbell and Caitlin Murray-Campbell, for there are plenty of those.”
“What’re you sayin’, Xian?”
“You practically run the militia—”
“No, I don’t. That’s George’s role.”
“You know he’s let you have free rein of it. He’s stepped back.”
“Aye.” Rory sighed, conceding Xian’s opinion.
“You need to take your place on the Chief Council, Rory. You were born to it.”
“No, Angela was born to it and mentored for it.” Rory tightened his grip on the reins as he viewed the road ahead.
“Yes but...” Xian appeared to gather his thoughts. “She is not humble enough. Angela would ultimately and always put her needs above the Community’s. Our Community needs someone who knows what sacrificial leadership is. And that person is you, Rory Campbell.”
“You know, you’re beginning to sound like Angus.” Rory slid his gaze from the tree line back to his companion on the horse beside him.
Xian raised an eyebrow. “A man I respected, and now you reveal he had great wisdom.”
Rory shifted in his saddle as they travelled on in silence and their valley widened. Ahead of them were mountain peak upon mountain peak and the crumbled road through the valley would go on for the next day or two.
“I’m not as capable as everyone in the Community thinks I am.” The pressure on Rory’s shoulders matched the tightness in his chest. “I’ll never be as good as Mum or Dad. Never.” He stared at Boy’s damp mane. “I wish they were both still here.”