“Here,” he pointed. “I think we might be somewhere about here. We went through the village of Glencoe and the pass and then the road was flattening out so maybe we’re near this place called Kingshouse, though I’m not sure what that is exactly.”
“Where are the raiders going, you think?” Tash asked, poring over the whole map.
“Well, this road we’re on goes down to Crianlarich and then splits. One way goes west towards… well, the biggest place is Glasgow. If they go east they’ll come to Perth. But how can we know?”
“Do you need specs to read?” cried Tash.
“What do you mean? That looks like Glasgow to me, and east is — Oh no!… where’s my torch?”
The light in the cab had grown weaker and died, leaving them sitting in the dark and cold. They both rummaged around, found their torches and wound them up. Toby shone his on the map.
“Look,” said Tash, pointing with a grubby finger to a faint red circle drawn round Stirling.
“How do you know that means they’re going there?” quizzed Toby, a bit put out by her find.
“Because if you look very carefully, next to it, written in pencil, are the letters NC,” she said, exasperatedly.
“Ah, you’re right. Look at that! I’ve stared at this map for ages and I never noticed that!”
I’m such a twit sometimes! Wow! New Caledonia. We know where we have to go at last. But we’ve got no way of getting there.
“Because of me we’ve no transport and no shelter either,” Toby moaned, rubbing at his sore face where the air bag had hit him. “We can’t trek across these mountains in this weather.” He glanced at Tash. Would she be able to walk anywhere? “I think we should head towards this Kingshouse place. There may be shelter there. We can’t stay here.”
Tash nodded and climbed stiffly out of the truck. She looked awful. There was blood and pink gunge splodged all over her face, which was swollen and puffy.
I hope she’s going to be ok.
Reluctantly Toby and Tash left the Land Rover and set off into the wintry night, clutching whatever they could carry. Toby had discovered a box of custard creams, a pile of plastic bags and some tins of cola, while Tash had stuffed her rucksack with bags of Haribo sweets she had found under the seat, and the smelly dog blanket. Most of the stuff was too heavy: boxes of spanners, wrenches, bags of nails, nuts, bolts and washers.
“Looks like Carl was planning to build something,” observed Toby, poking about in the back of the Land Rover. “See all these tools, and there’s even some electrical equipment: drills, a chainsaw and a wood planer. They must have electricity in this New Caledonia, though I’m surprised they didn’t take that generator with them.”
“Maybe they didn’t have time.”
“They were certainly in a hurry. The dogs seem to have upset the General – that’s for sure.”
The two of them huddled together for warmth as they set off across the snowy heather, branching out to the left, hoping to come across the place known as Kingshouse. Toby was thankful for the new boots: they were dry and warm and comfy. The thing he had hated most about living on the Lucky Lady was that everything was always clammy and cold. Even his clothes in the mornings had been heavy with the damp, and there never seemed to be time to dry anything out in front of their little stove.
I’d love to be cuddled up in front of that stove right now. Me and Sylvie and Henry would be all cosy, wrapped up together in a big blanket, toasting our toes.
Toby thought about Sylvie. Was she at this place near Stirling now? Or was she in one of the big trucks motoring through the snow to get there? He tried to concentrate on putting one tired foot in front of the other through the thick crispy heather. Tash plodded on silently beside him, the wolf skin tied tightly round her.
She’s brave – a lot of girls I knew wouldn’t have managed to get this far, even without me almost killing them in a car crash. Mind you, a lot of the boys wouldn’t have been so uncomplaining either.
He remembered some of the girls he used to play with in the village as being very sporty and playing football with the boys on the green near the playground, so maybe it was unfair of him to think girls were softies.
Toby was so tired he began to meander in his tracks, wobbling this way and that. But just as he thought he couldn’t go further, he heard Tash cry out:
“See! Something ahead…” The wind snatched at her words.
Toby lifted his head and saw a cluster of buildings huddled to the right of the track. If Tash hadn’t spotted them in the dark he would have walked straight by them.
“Well done, you.” He hardly had the strength to speak.
They trudged into a muddy yard and saw a sign hanging down in front of a neglected-looking building:
THE KINGSHOUSE HOTEL
“Great!” cried Toby, “I wonder if they have room service?” He fought his way through the drifts of snow up to the front door and pushed it open. It swung creakily on its hinges to reveal a glass porch, the door of which was locked. Tash staggered in beside him. Toby took one look at her drooping shoulders and half-closed eyes and sprang into action.
“Move,” he ordered. “We need to get inside quick.” He picked up a stone from the yard and smashed a pane of glass then put his hand through the jagged hole and unlocked the door from the inside. It opened and Tash fell into the hallway, to land on a thick red carpet.
“Mmm… Smells so nice and clean. Can we stay here forever?”
“We’ve got to get you warmed up.”
“It’s comfy here,” she mumbled drowsily.
Toby was so glad to have stopped walking in the snow and cold. He, too, wanted to drop asleep, snuggling into the comfy carpet. He would sleep and sleep until the spring came with its warm days again and then he would wake up to sunshine.
But he knew he couldn’t do that. He had to get Tash warmed up fast. If she went to sleep now she might not wake up again.
15. Hairy Highlands
“Tash! Get up! You’re not sleeping here,” shouted Toby. Tash raised her head slightly from the depths of the plush carpet and stared at him with vacant eyes.
“I’m ok.” She grinned and then giggled. This really worried Toby. She was acting like he had felt once after drinking some of his dad’s homemade beer: stupidly light-headed, as if he was floating, disconnected from the earth. His dad had given him a terrible row but Toby pointed out it hadn’t been entirely his fault – the beer had been in an Irn Bru bottle.
Toby dragged Tash by her arms through the hotel lobby. She was laughing and singing: “The wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round, round and round…”
“Hush, Tash, at least sing something decent,” Toby begged her, as he struggled to pull her through the doorway. He managed to get her as far as a large sitting room where he plonked her on a settee. He found a pile of tartan woollen blankets stacked on a chair and threw them over her, pulling off her wet boots and tucking her feet into the warm folds.
“Must get her warm,” he mumbled, stumbling round the empty rooms, searching for something to make some heat. He swung open a heavy oak door and found himself in a large dusty dining room with a thick red carpet, and windows draped in plush velvet curtains. A dozen tables and chairs were set out as if waiting for the diners to arrive. A thick layer of dust dulled the fine crystal glasses and ornate silver cutlery.
Toby grabbed one of the fancily carved wooden chairs and threw it across the room. Its delicate spindly legs crashed to the floor and broke into several pieces. He snatched them up.
Sorry chair – I don’t like to do this but I need some firewood! Now to find kindling and some way to light a fire.
Clutching the remains of the chair, Toby staggered back into the sitting room. The singing had stopped. Tash was fast asleep.
“NO! Wake up, Tash!” Toby cried, shaking her limp arms frantically. “You’ve got to wake up – you’ve got hypothermia. You could die!”
Tash mumbled something unintelligi
ble under her breath but didn’t open her eyes.
Toby stacked the chair in the grate of the large Victorian fireplace and glanced around. There was a dusty lighter sitting on top of the mantelpiece and some old faded newspapers in a log basket next to the hearth. He crunched up the paper into balls and stuffed them into the grate, then, shaking the lighter, he flicked the flint with his thumb. There was no spark.
Come on – light! Please!
Time and again he rolled his thumb over the ridged wheel until his skin was sore. Just as he was about to give up and search again, a tiny flicker spat from the lighter.
Great! Just in time!
Kneeling down, he held it carefully to the pile in the grate and, as the paper singed black and started to catch light, he leant and blew gently. The flames fanned through the balls of paper, throwing white whorls of smoke up the chimney. Toby sat back on his heels and watched the broken splinters of chair start to glow.
Phew! Better go and get some more chairs to burn – this one won’t last long.
First he checked Tash: the colour was slowly returning to her pale face – in fact one side seemed to be developing a dark red rash. Toby frowned. He had no idea what that could be.
Maybe she’s allergic to that ghastly gunge she put on her face?
He squeezed her hand. It felt warm and looked pink and healthy. She was breathing rhythmically now, the blankets rising and falling with her soft snores. He checked her feet under the covers. They, too, were dry and cosy.
She looks ok now – maybe I overreacted. I’ll stack the fire, then look for something to eat. Maybe there are some dry rations still here?
Toby went back to the luxurious dining room and set about smashing up more chairs. In a funny sort of way he quite enjoyed wrecking and breaking the wooden frames into shards of firewood. It eased the tension of the past few days.
He carried armfuls of wood back to the sitting room, filling the log basket. Sitting down to admire his handiwork, leaden tiredness weighed down his legs, his eyelids fluttered and he felt himself drifting off.
Sunlight was pouring in the dusty windows of the sitting room when Toby woke up. For the first time in ages he was too hot and threw back the thick rug that had been thrown over him.
Oh, that’s so lovely, waking up all cosy and hot.
In the grate the roaring fire leapt and crackled, sending waves of real heat over him. He stretched and yawned. The other settee was empty. Tash must have got up, put more wood on the fire and tucked him under the rug.
Why can’t life always be like this – why does it have to be such a struggle? If only I could be this warm and cosy all the time.
But he knew that it couldn’t last; sooner or later he’d have to get up and start the battle for survival all over again.
I must get going – I need to find Dad and Sylvie, but at least we know where we are heading now, even if it is a long way to go. If only it wasn’t winter it would be so much easier.
It didn’t look much like winter with the sun streaming in, sunbeams catching motes of dust swirling through the air.
“You awake?” called a voice from somewhere.
“Yeah, and I’m waiting for my breakfast,” Toby called back.
“Very funny! You missed breakfast – it’s now lunch, and it’s about to be served in the lounge.”
“In the lounge? How posh! Ok, coming.” Toby pulled himself to standing, noticing how weak his legs were. Sitting by the fire was a large pair of towelling slippers embroidered with “The Kingshouse Hotel”. He slipped them on and sighed. There was nothing as good as warm feet after a cold walk in the snow.
He shuffled down the hallway and into a large lounge that had a bar curving round the right-hand side. A set of French windows on the left-hand side looked out onto a world of snow-capped mountains twinkling in the sharpness of the sun.
“Wow!” he gasped, “what an amazing view!”
“It’s fab, isn’t it?” said Tash, appearing behind the bar carrying bowls of steaming soup, which she set down. “Come and eat,” she commanded. Toby sat up on a bar stool and tucked into his soup with noisy gulps.
“How are you feeling?” he asked anxiously, trying not to stare at Tash’s red puffy face. The rash had spread to both cheeks now and looked angry and sore.
It couldn’t be red fever, could it? Like a delayed, milder version than the one that killed everybody?
Toby tried to dismiss the idea from his mind. Surely she wouldn’t be feeling well enough to cook lunch if she had red fever?
“Oh, not so bad,” Tash replied, avoiding Toby’s gaze. He could see she was trying very hard to act big and brave.
“This is a great place,” he said, sucking his spoon.
“Mind your manners, Tobes – no slurping the soup, please,” Tash corrected him. “Yes, it doesn’t look like it’s changed since before the red fever. And there’s a huge store cupboard full of lots of dried food. There are tins of soup and fruit and they’ve not gone off because it’s so cold here in winter. Same in Russia, my father says.”
“Yeah? It looks like the hotel was in good condition before the red fever and no one’s been here since. Is there any more of that soup left?”
“Yep, help yourself,” Tash pushed a pan towards him. “And tonight we will have the best dinner ever!” she declared.
“Why’s that then?”
“Because today is Christmas Day!”
“REALLY? How do you know that?” exclaimed Toby.
I’m not sure that I want to have Christmas without Sylvie and Dad. It doesn’t seem right.
“I keep a diary, otherwise it’s dead easy to lose track of time, don’t you think? Anyway, I’m going to plunder the stores here and find the best stuff for a slap-up meal.”
I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to have a nice meal. I’ve had few enough of those in the last three years.
“Ok, sounds good to me,” said Toby. “But we’ve got to decide what we’re going to do next. We need to get to Stirling, and it’s a long way to walk. We must think of some other way to get there. I wonder whether I can mend the Land Rover? I don’t think I know enough about mechanics to do that…”
“I know how to get there,” said Tash smugly.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. We can ride.”
“What on?”
“Ponies! Come and see!” Tash waved for Toby to follow her. When he caught up she was standing by the back door of the kitchen.
“Be quiet and don’t make any sudden moves,” she ordered, slipping out of the door and into the bright light of the sun bouncing off the snow.
“Hang on, Tash, let me put my boots on first…” Toby struggled to swap his slippers for his boots, then tagged along behind her through the yard and round the back of one of the outbuildings.
There, in the lee of the wall, stood four enormous ponies staring at them with large, liquid brown eyes. Their fluffy coats had a layer of ice and snow on top, and their thick matted manes and tails were full of tangles and bits of fern and heather.
“Hello,” cooed Toby gently. “Sylvie would love you. She’s mad about ponies.” He put his hand out to them cautiously. “These are Highland ponies; I saw them once at the Highland Show in Edinburgh, only those ones looked a lot smarter. How did you know they were here?”
“Easy – I saw fresh hoof prints in the mud leading round here, and there was new poo in the yard.”
It’s a good job she’s so observant. I never notice anything.
Tash was talking to the horses in a singsong sort of voice, in a language Toby didn’t understand. The ponies seemed mesmerised by her, snuffling at her jacket and plucking carefully at her sleeve with their soft brown muzzles.
“Careful, Tash. Remember, these ponies haven’t been touched in years. They’re probably half wild by now.”
She turned and smiled at him. “Don’t worry, my father was a famous horse trainer in Poland. He used to teach the wild horses to do tricks in the circus. He even got
a zebra to walk on a tightrope once. Father taught me the ways of horses. I’ve been riding since I was a baby.”
Trust her to have a horse trainer as a dad! Don’t think Mum would have approved of the circus bit though – she hated circuses. She never let me go to any.
“Please don’t tell me I’ve got to ride these things with nothing to hang onto. I’ve only ever been on a rocking horse,” said Toby nervously, trying to keep out of the way of the ponies’ massive feet while they stomped around Tash.
“Don’t worry, I found their tack, too. Follow me!”
Toby slid round the side of the barn, keeping as far away from the ponies as he could.
I don’t care what Tash says, I don’t trust you – you look a bit wild to me.
Tash beckoned him into a small stone building where she was shining her torch on the wall. There was a faded poster pinned up, which said:
THE KINGSHOUSE TREKK ING CENTRE
BRITISH HORSE SOCIETY APP ROVED
ALL AGES AND ABILITIES WELCOME
“Just as well,” said Toby, pointing to the last line, “as I have no ability whatsoever.”
“Ah, you’ll be a great horseman when I’ve finished teaching you,” said Tash, laughing.
Together they explored the barn. There was a wall covered with saddle brackets on which sat large comfy-looking trekking saddles. They were covered with green mildew, but Tash soon had them polished up with a rag and some saddle soap she found in a drawer. There were lines of bridles hanging on hooks, with an assortment of metal bits and leather straps fastened to them. Toby was fascinated.
“Do you really need all this stuff to go riding?” he asked, pulling a strange-looking net mask with red, floppy cotton ears out of a cupboard. “What is that?”
“It’s a fly mask,” said Tash, looking up from the sink where she was trying to scrape rust from a pair of stirrups. “They should have got stainless-steel stirrups – they’re the best.”
Thank goodness she knows what she’s doing – I haven’t got a clue. I’d never have tried to ride the ponies if I’d been on my own.
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