by Jenn Lees
Rory rolled his shoulders as Dr Farquhar and Mr Grant stared at Siobhan, their scowls identical.
“Tell us about the Bunker, Rory.” Uncle Brendan, sitting to Rory’s left, leaned forward, eyes bright with curiosity.
“I must admit it was an eye-opener. What they have in that Bunker...We spent some time in the archives. Full o’ history. But we can speak of this at another time. The most pressing thing has to do with just that. Time.”
Christine stopped fidgeting, George sat straighter and Mr Farquhar’s jowls shook a wee bit more.
“The Time Machine worked.” Rory placed his hand on the back of his chair.
“No!” Uncle Brendan jolted in his seat. “Murray got it to work?”
“Aye, he did, but the Government does nae ken it.”
“How did you keep it from them, Rory?” Aunty Bec asked.
Rory glanced down at Siobhan, who gave a slight nod.
“Murray and Siobhan were the only ones with the machine when Siobhan got caught in it and ended up in the future.” Rory spread his gaze along to every face, capturing each startled and surprised expression. Dr Farquhar gasped, then glowered at Siobhan.
“It normally goes to the past, doesn’t it?” George asked. “What did you see, Siobhan?”
Siobhan described the volcanic eruption and ensuing famine due to crop failure. Rory had primed her to omit the fact of civil war until he’d learned and understood all she could recall. When she’d finished, George blinked, and the rest of the Chief Council were silent. The ticking of the wall clock thundered through the room.
Then Uncle Brendan stirred. “A dark age once more.”
“Yes, but we are pre-warned,” Siobhan stated.
“And we must prepare,” Rory said. “I’ll get those in charge of planting the harvests to gather more seeds, increase our sowing, therefore our crop yields—”
“When will this be?” Dr Farquhar asked.
“Within the next five years,” Siobhan said.
“And we need to store our produce effectively, so it lasts.” Uncle Brendan’s mind was as busy as ever.
“How long will this famine go on?” Christine asked.
“We’re nae sure.” Rory looked along the table at her, throwing all the conviction he could into his voice. “But it happens.”
“We must inform our fellow Communities.” Aunty Bec jiggled in her seat.
“This seems a great undertaking,” Dr Farquhar said. “Someone must oversee this project.” He looked at Rory.
“But he runs the Militia,” George said.
“There are others who can do that,” Dr Farquhar retorted. “This serious matter calls for sensible leadership.”
Mr Grant stood. He’d remained quiet, his expression gaining in severity by the moment.
“Friends,” he sighed. “I fear I dinnae have the energy for all o’ this. More of our Community members must help direct and manage this important undertaking. I ken this is not a good time as, according to our time-traveller”— he dipped his head in Siobhan’s direction—“the world will be in crisis once more. But I believe this Council needs more people of vitality, especially now it’s required for this new problem. One which I cannae deny is a great threat. I ken the young ones are busy, but their strength and vision are vital, now more than ever.” He looked at his hands clasped in front of him. “Dr Farquhar and I have discussed this.” He turned to Dr Farquhar. “Reg, I hope ye dinnae mind if I say this. We were planning to retire from the Chief Council soon. But I think we must do it now and make way for those who will fight this challenge, as, if the future remains as Mrs Campbell saw, it will be soon upon us.”
“Why don’t you hold an election?” Siobhan startled Rory out of the numbness creeping through him, about to engulf him. How could these men abandon them now? Abandon him now?
All heads turned to Siobhan.
“You base the Community System on democracy, don’t you? Well, why not see who would be interested in governing, particularly at this crucial time, and have a ballot? Then you’ll not just second people to a position, but have those who are willing and, like Mr Grant and Dr Farquhar say, have the energy to do what is required for the survival of this Community.”
Rory dragged his thumb along his upper lip and embarrassed smiles emerged on one or two faces.
“We have never held elections, young lady. Not because we don’t believe in democracy.” An outright amused grin spread Dr Farquhar’s jowls wide. “A change in personnel has not been required until now.”
Rory caught Siobhan’s wide-eyed gaze.
“I believe this is an excellent suggestion,” Uncle Brendan said. “Thank you, Siobhan. Who’s with us on this idea?”
A chorus of ayes erupted from the Chief Council.
They planned the elections and the meeting soon ended, and Rory stepped from the Chief Council meeting room into the passage, swerving to avoid knocking into Kendra.
“Your bandit friend.” Kendra leaned in closer. “You know, the one who’s after your wee sister?”
“What about him?” Rory shifted his focus from his reflections on the meeting they’d left.
“He’s found some guys,” Kendra spoke low into his ear. “And is, well, questioning them, is the way I’ll put it.”
Chapter 26
The Invercharing Community, 2061
Rory stifled a groan and followed Kendra outside to the large sheds. Siobhan kept close while Kendra led them to the barn where they used to house the Time Machine.
“I’m not sure if you’d want to see this, Siobhan.” Kendra’s hand rested on the large latch of the barn’s door.
“Now you have me intrigued, Kendra,” Siobhan replied. “It will be informative, I’m sure.”
Kendra’s right eye squinted. “Informative is not the way I’d put it.” She opened the door.
They stepped in to groans echoing off the far wall of this shed. Two chairs were at the end on the earthen floor, facing away from the door. A man sat on each, their hands tied behind them, heads drooping. They both wore civilian clothes of factory-made quality. Micah’s hand swung down and slapped the face of the man on the right. The man’s head snapped to the side and blood sprayed from his mouth. He groaned. Micah’s men stood stony faced behind him. Micah raised his hand high, ready to hit him again, but Rory stormed in before he could.
“What are you doing, Micah? We don’t treat people like that here!”
One of the men sat with his head bowed, motionless. He could’ve been unconscious. Blood streamed from the nose of the one who’d received the slap; his eyes swelling.
Micah pulled his hand back to his side and clenched it into a fist. “They were spying on you.”
“It was obvious they were followin’ us.” Rory stood nose-to-nose with Micah. Winter-blue eyes stared back in defiance. “Did you find oot why before you slapped them into oblivion?”
“Aye, the Government does nae trust ye.”
“Also obvious!”
“Man, they bugged you. They were listenin’. To everything. But I’ve destroyed the recordings.”
“Did you listen to them?”
“No.” Micah stared directly at Rory.
“They’re gone?”
“Aye.”
“Thanks.” Rory softened his tone a fraction.
“Do you no’ value your privacy? What sort of government spies on its people?”
“Any sort, you naïve fool!” Rory ground his teeth in Micah’s face, then stepped back. “Kendra will help your guys take these men to the detainment rooms.” Then, to Kendra, “Get them cleaned up and tended to by Cèilidh, or Christine if it’s required.”
Kendra and one of Micah’s crew began to untie the men.
“Keep it quiet.” Rory ran his gaze up and down Micah. His knuckles were raw and covered with blood, beads of sweat sat on his forehead, and the metallic scent of blood filled the area. Micah had tied his dreads back—he’d meant business.
“Let Cèilidh know
it was Micah, if she asks,” he said to Kendra. “She should know what she’s getting herself into.”
“Man, I did this for you.” Micah’s shoulders heaved. “And your woman. You guys could be in danger. Hell, this whole Community could.” Pleading sat behind his words.
“You’re trying too hard to get my approval,” Rory spoke through the bile in his throat. He caught Siobhan’s arm and tugged her to walk out of the barn. She’d remained silent with a shocked expression filling her features. He needed to distance himself from this treatment of Government people. His veins boiled.
He spun and faced Micah. “They’re allies, for heaven’s sake!”
Micah flinched.
“Siobhan may know these men, but neither of them is recognisable in their current state,” Rory spat at him.
“Och, you’re such a hard-arse.” Micah burst out. “Everyone kens how tough you are! I mean everyone. All the bandits are shit-scared of you, even the ones who spent three months here.”
“Being tough doesn’t mean you disregard the rights of others, even if they’re violating yours.” Rory speared a finger at him, willing himself to remain where he stood and so prevent more violence. “Never do this sort o’ thing again, Micah. There’s a time and a place for physical persuasion. But it’s not here, and not now. And never to the Government’s people.”
“YOU CALL IT THE TRAINING shed,” Siobhan spoke through deep breaths. “But it’s really the torture chamber.”
Siobhan’s home-spun shirt clung to her back with sweat. They’d been home for two weeks and every day Rory had ensured she spent the afternoons on the mats learning martial art skills under Kendra’s instruction, while he performed his militia duties. Today Kendra was teaching her wrestling skills.
“Again,” Kendra lay on the mat and wriggled her fingers in a come-here gesture. When Siobhan was within arm’s reach, Kendra grabbed her collar and twisted, her arm now tightening across Siobhan’s neck on the right, threatening to cut off the blood supply to her brain on that side.
“Before I strangle a pregnant woman—which I’m told isn’t a good idea—what’re you goin’ to do?”
“Grab your thumb and...” Siobhan finished her answer by demonstrating it and getting out of Kendra’s grasp. Siobhan’s mouth lifted at the side, then Kendra changed the grip to her advantage and pulled Siobhan’s arm out to a stretch.
“You’re exposed now, and you’ve lost any upper-hand you gained.” Kendra briefly let go. “Don’t smile too soon.” She placed her arm around Siobhan’s and held it in a lock, tucking it tight into her shoulder as she squatted on all fours beside her.
Siobhan swung her legs over and grabbed at Kendra’s back, slipping her left foot down to her legs, hooking her heel around Kendra’s thigh and pulling her over, and slipping her right leg beneath Kendra as she did. Sweat cooled Siobhan’s brow as she pushed with all her might and flipped Kendra over, ending on top of her and swiftly changing the lock into one around Kendra’s neck.
Kendra tapped her submission. “Well done. You’re a natural.”
“Thanks,” Siobhan’s mouth stretched. “Can’t wait to do some kicks and punches.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Rory spoke from the edge of the mat. “Not until the baby’s born, aye?”
“How long have you been there?” Siobhan knelt and bowed to Kendra who returned it, then walked to Rory.
His smile erupted as she approached. “How’d you learn to be so good at grappling?”
“Grappling? Ah, I don’t know. I never was interested in the judo they taught in the Bunker...But I’m loving this.” She slipped her arms around his waist as he looked intently into her eyes. “And yes, I won’t attempt anything that would harm our baby.”
“You seem to know what to do instinctively.” His grin broadened.
“What time will you be finished today?” She kissed him quickly and the corners of his mouth lifted for a moment.
“We will be working late tonight. The Council want you and I to start deciding on the ballots and finding out who does and doesn’t want to be nominated for election.”
Siobhan let out a quiet sigh. That would mean another late night falling into bed exhausted. It had happened almost every night since their return and she was fast learning that life in a Community was hard graft.
RORY LEANED AGAINST the wall inside the main hall filled with members of the Community placing their votes. They were to vote for their preferred nine out of those who had agreed to nomination for a place on the Chief Council. Those with the most votes would be in.
“Secret ballot like the Greeks did it.” Xian shoved the folded ballot card into the slot at the top of the wooden ballot box.
“I’m sure they wouldn’t have wasted so much paper,” Kendra said. “Glad I’m not on paper recycling duty.”
“What do you think, Rory?” Xian asked. “Who, apart from you, will they elect?”
Rory shook his head. “I never bet on anything, Xian.”
“You’ll be there, boss,” Kendra said. “Haven’t you been listening to what people are saying?”
“Aye. I’ve heard a few whispers that my wife should nae have been allowed a vote, being a recent addition to the Community.” He lifted an eyebrow. “And a grumble from Micah’s camp.”
“It raised some questions,” Xian said. “When do new arrivals become eligible for a vote?”
“When he’s married to ma sister and not before.”
“WE HAVE COUNTED AND recounted the votes.” Uncle Brendan stood on the raised platform in the main hall where the whole Invercharing Community gathered.
Rory’s arm tugged as Siobhan slipped her arm in his. She’d snuck in through the back of the hall, having spent time with Mandy and their nephew. The tightness in Rory’s shoulders eased with her presence beside him. He put his arm around her slim waist and tucked her into his side. He’d only seen her for a wee bit today and, in fact, they had spent little time together at all since their return. Catching up with George and the militia, and planning their strategies for food collection and storage, plus all the incidentals for this ballot, had taken up most of Rory’s time.
“George Stobbart.” Uncle Brendan began the announcement of the successful candidates. “Christine Maynard. Rebecca Hamilton,” Uncle Brendan laughed. “Brendan Hamilton. Oh, that’s me.” Clapping erupted around Rory, and giggles rose from someone nearby.
Xian leaned into Rory’s shoulder. “I’m surprised he hasn’t announced your name yet.” He glanced across Rory to Siobhan. “Or yours, Mrs Campbell.”
Rory stared straight ahead.
What if they didn’t elect him?
He chewed the inside of his cheek. He desired to serve the Invercharing Community and make sure they would be safe from the future Siobhan had described, especially the civil war. Though he would only mention that to the Chief Council if all his efforts to prepare for a famine failed. He’d serve his people even if he wasn’t on the Council.
“Callum Campbell,” Uncle Brendan called from the platform. A shout broke from the members of the militia who stood along the back wall. Callum grinned and flicked a querying glance at him. Rory shrugged.
“Mary McKenzie,” Uncle Brendan continued, “Michael Moore.” Rory joined in the applause for the election of the head teacher and the Community’s artisan skilled in weaving.
“Not looking good, man,” Xian said under his breath.
“Xian Law.” More cheers came from the militia members.
“What!” Xian’s jaw dropped. “I said I’d be okay if they elected me, but I didn’t think...”
Rory’s chest vibrated with chuckles for his friend. Or maybe it was nerves. Siobhan was frowning again and her eyes held a question. He swallowed down the pain in the back of his throat that had risen from his stomach.
“Now, ladies and gentlemen,” Uncle Brendan said when the cheering died down. “We have one more member to announce and we have saved this until last. We have been overw
helmed by your votes.” Uncle Brendan stood straighter and cast his gaze around the gathered Community. “As you know, the ballot was for nine members to sit on the Chief Council and every single one of you voted for this man—Rory Campbell.”
Siobhan kissed him on the cheek and Xian slapped him on the back. Rory let out the breath he’d held for so long as those present clapped and cheered. His task might be easier now. He fought down his rapid heart rate and tucked Siobhan closer into his side as his thoughts swirled.
He could do this. He had to. There was no question. He would never be the great leader either of his parents were, but he’d do his best. He could work with those newly appointed and it would be a good team.
Rory loosened his grip on Siobhan’s waist and made his way outside holding her hand tight as they shuffled through the cheering crowd. They grabbed their coats as guys from the militia thumped him on the back and older members of the Community shook his hand.
“I need some air,” he said to Siobhan walking beside him, eyes bright and with a proud smile filling her face.
They strode out the narrow far gate leading to a winding track that snaked its way up the ben behind the compound. The crunch of footsteps on the stony track came behind them.
“Nice afternoon for a walk,” Xian said.
“Och, he’s going to his place of contemplation.” George’s deep tones rumbled.
The wind picked up as the track took them higher. The cool of a late autumn’s day was refreshing and a warning. Winter was near, and after that, a season to sow and reap as much as possible. Their boots ground on the old metal road as they reached the rise next to a natural platform that looked back over their glen. They stopped in the lee that sheltered them from the wind.
“Congratulations, Rory,” George was the first to speak. “But for those of us who know you, there was no doubt.”
“I congratulate the others also.” Rory cast his vision over the green narrow valley before them. The ground was a deep brown where the crops had been ripped out and most fields laid to rest over winter, except the few growing turnips and other stock feed. Sheep and goats nibbled on the steep-sided bens that lined their narrow, secluded glen. Highland cattle strolled lazily beside the wide burn that ran through it, their long shaggy coats blown by the wind. A militia outpost further along kept an eye out for poachers and unfriendly bandits who hoped to sneak-steal their livestock.