“Or acting,” Brin replied. She touched his arm gently. “I don’t like this…”
“You there! In the trees! Coom on then, show yerselves!” called the stranger. The flashlight couldn’t quite penetrate the palm copse, but it was scary enough for Brin and Erik. “I’ll have ye know I’m armed!” the man shouted over the storm.
Another loud clap of thunder interrupted the speaker. “Och! Games up, ye’re spotted. Now come out an’ we can have a look, eh?”
“He’s Scottish!” Brin said with relief. “They’re our allies,” she started to get up. Erik put a hand on her shoulder and kept her down.
“You stay,” he whispered forcefully. “Anything goes wrong, run to the beach, get back to the trees and call Hoss. Don’t look—run.”
She glared at him.
“Okay?” he asked the question but it wasn’t really a question, she could tell from the tone of his voice. Brin was about to tell him where he could stick his orders when she realized deep down he was only acting like John Wayne for her benefit. Her resolve softened and he only relaxed the iron grip on her shoulder when she nodded assent to the plan.
Once satisfied she would leave if he got into trouble, he stood up and stepped through the trees, right hand up to shield his eyes from the flashlight and the rain.
“My, but ye’re a big one, then,” exclaimed the stranger when Erik stepped into the beam of light. The Scotsman had that distinctive burr known the world over.
“I’m sorry, I got lost—“
“Where’s t’other one, then?” the Scot demanded, looking over Erik’s shoulder without pause.
“What?” stammered Erik. The game was up too fast. He hoped Brin was preparing to make her escape.
“Coom out laddie, I know ye’re in there,” called out the Scotsman, not unkindly.
Thunder drowned out Erik’s lie, so he had to repeat himself. “I’m alone, sir. Please, don’t shoot me!” It was too late. Brin had already joined her husband in the rain.
“No point in telling me a—oh…” the Scotsman said. When he saw Brin’s scared face, he bobbed his head and knuckled his brow. “Beggin’ pardon, mum.”
Brin’s almond eyes blinked in the rain as she focused on the gun the Scotsman held. He followed her gaze and aimed the gun at the ground in front of them sheepishly. “Och, deary me…Sorry about that. So happens you lot are trespassing this fine night and I pulled short straw.” He leaned in conspiratorially towards Brin and whispered something behind his hand. She laughed, dropped her hands and was visibly relaxed.
Erik fumed, confused. “Wha—“
The Scotsman spun around with military precision on his good heel and called over his shoulder, “Weel, coom on then, no sense drownin’ in th’ rain. Follow me and we’ll all have a wee dram to war’um up.”
Erik dropped his arms and debated whether or not to retrieve their packs. He opted for the former when Brin passed him and slipped her radio into his hand. He smiled and pocketed the radio in the darkness between lightning flashes. If need be, now he could at least get Hoss a warning. “I love you,” he whispered in the cold rain as she passed, following the limping Scotsman.
“I know.”
The Scotsman opened the gate and waved, “Coom on, we’re goin’ to the fifth slip there, on the right.” As Erik moved past him, the old man said, “If t’eren’t for me wee googles, I sha’ think ye’d never ha’ been seen, laddie. That was nice work.”
He helped Brin down to the mildly bucking deck of a rather large sailboat, then motioned for Erik to join his wife with the handgun. The movement was too cavalier for Erik’s taste, waving a gun about like that. In a flash of lightning, Erik then realized that the pistol his captor wielded was only a flare gun. Erik hid his relief and waited patiently for their elder host to clamber down from the dock.
Waves splashed like drum beats against the hull and the howling of the wind in the rigging was unnerving. The rocking of the boat didn’t seem to faze the Scotsman one bit as he swaggered to the sturdy cabin hatch, flung it open and called out, “Maddie! We’ve coompany!” He was silhouetted by a warm, inviting glow from below decks.
“Aye? Coompnay? In thus way-ther?” the thick, matronly Scottish accent wafted up to greet them as Erik and Brin were led down inside the boat. As soon as the hatch was shut and secured behind them with a resounding thud, the violence of the storm outside all but vanished. The boat rocked slowly but of the wind and rain and lightning they could detect almost nothing. It was as if they had descended into a different world. Only a dull, faint clap of thunder penetrated the snug boat’s hull into the warm and cheery interior.
The Scotsman shook water from his rain slicker and wiped his face. “There noo, that’s better. Welcoom aboard the Flying Piper. My name is Archibald Sinclair, captain and commander of thus fine vessel.” He shrugged out of the slicker and removed the night vision goggles from his balding head. “Och, tha’s better. These wee straps were giving me a brilliant headache.”
Erik considered Archie a moment. The flare gun had disappeared into one of the man pockets on the photographer’s vest the Scotsman wore over his Bermuda shorts and deck shoes.
He was tan, Archibald Sinclair, in the manner of men accustomed to life at sea. Tan and squint-eyed with the look of one who is always in the wind. A sailor through and through. Archibald had kind, grandfatherly eyes, though, and wide shoulder’s for one so short—Erik guessed the man was about 5’7” or 5’8”. The graying thinning hair on Archibald’s head was in stark contrast to the reddish-brown hair covering his forearms. He looked like a small, balding bear.
Erik’s gaze then shifted to a rather wide-looking women he spotted stepping through the bulkhead at the other end of the cabin with a leveled short-barrel shotgun pointed in their direction. Before Brin and Erik could raise their hands again, the woman gasped, then called out, a dark look on her face for Archibald, “Och! Archibald Sinclair!! How dare you drag these poor wee bairn in here at gunpoint!”
“Wee? Bairn?” Archie looked from the woman to Erik and back again. “D’ye no see ‘im, lass? Tha’s William Wallace reborn, woman! He’s got to stoop to stay inside. Wee indeed!”
“Aye, he’s a big lad then, is he no?” said Maddie with an appraising eye and wink for Brin. “But the wee lass—she’s no’ but a bridie thing. A wee sprite!” The older woman casually tossed the shotgun at Archie and moved to wrap Brin in a thick wool blanket pulled out of a cubbie-hole in the cabin’s wall.
“There we go, dearie,” she cooed with her own softer Scots burr. “My name’s Maddie — I fear I mus’ apologize for the rudeness of my husband. He’s only trying to protect me, in ‘is own misguided way, y’see,” she said to Brin with a dark look again at Archibald. Brin looked more like an Eskimo than ever with the thick woolen blanket exposing only her face.
Archibald grimaced but held the shotgun pointed loosely at Erik. “Are you of the Campbell, clan, then Maddie?” asked Erik. Maddie and Archibald exchanged a look. He lowered the shotgun.
“No laddie, I’m a MacGregor. Archie was a piper for the Black Watch.”
Erik’s eyebrows went up and he nodded in respect to Archibald. The Black Watch, the Queens Own 42nd Highlanders, a fighting unit with a storied past full of daring, bravery, tragedy and glory. In his history classes Erik had heard the name of the Black Watch come up many times, especially dealing with the American Revolution. No British unit was more feared or respected during the War of Independence.
Archie cocked an eyebrow of his own. “And how d’ye know the Campbell Tartan?” he asked, inclining his head towards the blanket that wrapped snuggly around Brin.
“My mom’s family came from Scotland, a long way back. MacKenzies.”
“The Orkneys. I knew it!” said Archie with a wide grin.
“Lewis, actually,” replied Erik with a smile.
“Och, th’ big island for a big man! Highlander through an through, no doubt! What’s yer name then?”
“Erik Larss
on,” he replied, with a slight bow towards Maddie.
“Dearie me, a Viking and a gentleman. Careful Archie, I may run ‘way with the big laddie here!” snickered Maddie as she tried to hide a blush. She was the image of someone’s grandmother, plump, but not fat, gray of hair but full of spirit and life.
“I may have something to say about that,” said Brin with a lopsided grin of her own.
“May I introduce Brin, my wife,” said Erik, an arm around his bride.
“Ha! D’hear that woman? He’s taken,” cried Archie with glee. He dropped the shotgun into a chair and shook Erik’s hand with gusto.
Maddie began removing her flannel shirt and revealed a bullet proof vest. “So is she, you devil,” she grunted at Archie.
Erik noticed right away that Maddie was not nearly as ‘plump’ as he first thought she was. The Scotswoman was wearing armor. Without it, she was only moderately heavier than Brin; a healthy weight for a woman of any age.
After hugs and handshakes all around, in the true fashion of Highland Hospitality, drams of whiskey were passed out and the four new friends toasted Scotland and settled into chairs. Brin screwed up her face and gasped as the liquid fire hit her throat, then smiled as the warmth began to work its way down to her stomach. Archie and Maddie drank theirs like water and watched with approval as Erik did likewise.
Erik tossed the dram back and was hit hard by the strong woodsmoke and sea-salt aroma of the Scotch. It was something he hadn’t encountered before. During college, his buddies had made great sport of drinking Scotch at social gatherings—it impressed the girls and seemed classier than swilling beer with frat boys.
He’d had many brands, Glen Livet, DeWar’s, Chevas Regal. But this…this was something similar yet worlds apart. It was smooth and yet it burned like fire. It had the most delicious coloring, but the aroma was almost overpowering. It made the other brands he’d had taste like plain water. His eyes were trying to water as he sought out the label on the bottle when Archie poured another round.
Talisker Single Malt, aged 12 years. Talisker Distillery, Carbost, Isle of Skye, Scotland.
Erik hoped that he had covered his own gasp well enough. It had been a few years since he had taken a dram among friends. Soon enough, the warmth spread throughout his body and he relaxed. This stuff is good…
“Aye,” said Archie, recognizing the look on Erik’s face. “Thus is no Chevas Regal. Thus is a real Scotsmans drink.”
Erik cleared his throat. “It’s a fine whiskey, Archie. The flavor—-it’s very strong. Reminds me of the ocean.”
Archie and Maddie grinned in delight. “It’s brewed on the Isle of Skye, Erik,” said Maddie. “Here in the States, thus brand is most rare. Thus is our last bottle. Archie and I have grown quite fond of it over the years. Next time we call on Skye, we’ll get more.”
“Now then, d’ye mind tellin’ us why ye two were out a-skulkin’ in the palm trees?” asked Archie with another dram of the water of life in his hand. He handed a refill to Brin who politely refused. Erik leaned forward to accept another glass and followed Maddie and Archie’s lead by sipping round two.
“Sure, but shouldn’t you be guarding — you said it was your turn. It’s not safe out there anymore,” Erik said, nodding towards the hatch.
“Moor’s the pity,” said Archie as he sipped his whiskey. “We’re safe enough in here, though. “ He nodded and Erik looked over his shoulder to see a black and white video screen embedded into the bulkhead by the stairway leading up to the main deck. The imaged swayed back and forth with the motion of the boat and flashed with lightning but still showed a clear picture of the dock, almost to the main gate.
Satisfied, Erik and Brin told the tale of the Freehold form when the lights went out. They completed each other’s sentences and tried to refrain from too much detail of the Battle. Archie did not press the issue, though Maddie was quite concerned to hear about the plight of the women and children.
“So ye’re the one’s who gave those muther-lovun’ bandits the bloody nose, then? With swords even?” Archie raised his dram in salute. “William Wallace, aye.”
“We saw the stragglers coom by here after you beat them off,” Maddie added. “What a sorry lot. Looked like they’d been in an Irish pub fight!” she exclaimed.
“They came here?” asked Brin.
“Och, aye. They scared off t’others,” said Archie with a smirk.
“Others?” asked Erik. He sipped the woodsy single malt and savored the warmth spreading into his body from his stomach.
“The first lot broke into more than one boat that night lookin’ for supplies,” replied Maddie, squinting at them with one well practiced eye. “Sank some others t’vent frustration I suppose. The other owners wha’ stayed to that point gave up and raised anchor.”
“We’re the last,” agreed Archie with a grim look. “We were plannin’ on leaving in a day or two. I’m gathering supplies from the boats that were left abandoned,” he mumbled ruefully. “Och, it pains me ‘eart to do so but they’ll never be used now. No one’ll coom back here with the war brewin’.”
“Again w’tha’ war! They’re the U.N., not the Soviet Union!” cried Maddie in exasperation.
“Ah know the likes o’ these peacekeepers,” Archie spat the word. “They’ll be coomin’ here soon enough!” His look said ‘mark my words’. “This country isna’ Serbia, though. The Colonials wull fight back!”
“Och, away w’ye, daft old man,” chided Maddie with wave of her arm.
“Archie’s right, Maddie. Oh, there’ll be millions—probably in the cities—who may welcome the U.N. at first. But I have to believe most of us will resent foreign soldiers on our soil. I know I will. But there’s a lot of military guys who will have something to say about that before people like me—“
“Us,” said Brin gently, but with a determined look on her face.
“Before we get involved.”
“Cheers to that, laddie, “ said Archie, empty dram half raised in salute.
They talked of the coming war in warm companionship—-it wasn’t declared, but all the newscasts said the President would fight — the power outage, looters. Their friendly chat went on for a few more minutes until the mood suddenly darkened. A loud clap of thunder silenced talk for a minute or so further as the foursome stared into empty drams and felt the rocking of the boat riding the waves.
At last Erik cleared his throat and looked up. “So. Archie. You’re sailing out tomorrow?”
The Scotsman glanced at his wife and cleared his throat. “Aye, we figure safest bet is to make for the Keys, then follow the Intercoastal Waterway to the Carolinas.”
“I’ve kin on the Outer Banks,” said Maddie with a smile.
Archie nodded and scratched his chin. “We’ll see how things look then, maybe make the crossing home after we resupply. If luck holds we’ll be back in the Highlands coom Christmas. If no, we’ll cross the spring.”
Erik whistled. “Talk about bugging out.”
“You mean to cross the Atlantic?” asked Brin, eyes round.
“Aye, lassie!” grinned Archie as he patted the wood paneling lining the hull. “She’s a bonnie lass, strong of keel and stout of sail.”
Maddie spoke up, seeing Brin’s disbelieving look. “She’s bigger than she looks, dearie. The Piper has served us well as a home for almost six year noo. We’ve crossed the Pond five times already — almost once a year.”
Archie spotted Erik try to sneak a glance at his watch. “Ye’ve coompany waitin’ for ye, no? S’alright, lad,” he said, sipping his refilled whiskey. “Good idea. Times like these it’s nice t’have someone watch ye’r back.”
Erik paused, cursing himself for the slip up. “It is,” he said slowly, watching Archie’s genial face. He pulled out the radio and said, “Hoss, you read me?” The Scotsman raised an eyebrow and winked but said nothing.
Through the rain and static came Hoss’s reply, “Go ahead, man…I hear ya.”
“Read
y for pickup. Let’s get back home for the night.”
“Amen brother! I need to dry out. Be right there…”
Archie ushered Erik and Brin out after Maddie supplied hugs and some shortbread cookies in a little tin. Standing on the deck in the rain, Erik and Archie shook hands. “If you want, coom by tomorrow before the tide runs out and I’ll show you the boats worth saving. A sailboat is a handy way to disappear, lad.”
“I will. Thank you Archie. What time –“
“A wee before eight o’clock.,” said the little Scotsman with a grin. “Give or take a bit.” In the distance, motorcycles rumbled over the wind and rain of the dying storm. “Now go—get ye;r lassie home safe. See ye in the morning!”
Erik thought about Archie and Maddie and the possibilities a boat provided the whole way back to the Freehold. He was soaking wet, cold, and windblown, but excited.
Brin immediately went to dry off but Erik went across the breezeway to Ted and Susan’s apartment. Ted answered the door with his service shotgun and a relieved look. He was, as usual, wearing his PT shorts and USMC shirt. Barefoot but ready to act, 24/7.
“You’re back! How’d it go?”
“Great…better than great! We met this couple from Scotland—“
“What?” asked Ted, eyes wide. “What were they doing there? How have they survived—“
“They live on their sailboat. He’s cool, ex-military,” Erik said.
“No shit?”
“No shit. Anyway, they invited me back tomorrow. He’s going to show me which boats to salvage for our fishing expedition,” Erik said, wiping rain from his forehead.
“The one Lentz canceled?”
Erik’s face fell. He looked down the breezeway into the ink of the storm riddled night. Rain gusted down the corridor driven by wind. The storm had spent its violence but was still soaking everything in a wind tossed fury. He looked up again and rubbed his nose.
“But it’ll be great for us….if…when we bug out. I need to get out of here for a few days, just regroup, you know? I’ve been thinking this is a way to kill two birds with one stone. An escape and a recon/fishing expedition all in one. If it works, we’ll have more food. If not, then at least I’ll be ready to bug out with a clear mind.”
Alea Jacta Est: A Novel of the Fall of America (Future History of America Book 1) Page 53