EPILOGUE
The 7.5-tonne truck with the logo of a small chain of convenience shops rolled out of the village and up the formidable mountain road known to the locals as “Dead Man’s Pass” due to its steepness and treachery in bad weather. The villagers of Lonbaig felt renewed hope as the wagon negotiated the sharp bend and ascended out of sight. They had traded shellfish and locally manufactured cheese, both of which they had in abundance, for four pallets of canned food. If the traders were good to their word and visited again in a few weeks, any fears that they had once had about going hungry in the winter months would be vanquished.
The weather-beaten face of the man claiming to be a crofter concentrated hard as he negotiated the steep tight corners of the mountain pass. In the seat next to him was a man half his age, paying no attention to the difficult road ahead, but studying a map he had laid out on one knee. He wrote neatly on a refill pad he had on his other knee, clearly well practised in the art of travelling and making notes at the same time. “So, Loch Taig next stop, then Ichmore and finally back to Loch Uig. What do you think the new boss is going to be like?” he asked the driver, finishing his notes, closing the book and folding the map away.
The driver glanced across irritably. He could put up a pretence of being amiable for the foolish villagers, but he didn’t have to carry on when he was back in the cab of the lorry. He said nothing and just carried on driving.
“I said—” began the passenger a few seconds later.
“I heard what you said,” the driver snapped, before sinking back into the uncomfortable silence.
The passenger rolled his eyes, turned as much as he could in his seat while keeping his seatbelt on, and stared out of the window, suddenly feeling a little travel sick as he noticed the startling sheer drop to the left. The driver looked across and smiled to himself. It was the cruel smile of a cruel man. It would have been easy to answer his passenger, easier than for most people. He didn’t have to speculate as to what the new boss would be like as he had dealt with the new boss before. He’d dealt with The Don and he’d dealt with Fry. He didn’t like either one of them, and he knew they were not the kind of employers who rewarded loyalty, but they did reward those who could provide them with useful information and those who could get results.
Everyone back at the camp in Loch Uig scoffed at him when he said he was going to travel the Highlands posing as a crofter setting up a trading route to help rebuild the region. They all thought nobody would be gullible enough to believe such a story. But he knew better. He knew that desperate people would cling on to every last shred of hope they could. He had brought supplies with him to trade. He knew nothing would speak louder than currency, and the currency now was food and fuel, anything that could keep bellies full and people from freezing. He had brought a tantalising taste of normality, the old normality, to these beleaguered people, and they were more than willing to lap it up. In return they had supplied mere tokens, some cheese here, a few bags of corn there, but it was what they had given to him unwittingly that was the real prize. Through befriending these simple-minded idiots he had learnt what they had for the taking – crops, diesel, vehicles, equipment, women. As far as arms were concerned they were just a notch up from pitchforks and shovels. There wasn’t a single community his army couldn’t obliterate in a heartbeat. His journey had taken nearly three weeks, and they had run into the odd RAM here and there, but they had stayed clear of larger population centres like Inverness and Fort William so there had been no serious threats. The Highlands, though, were ripe for the picking, and when he provided Fry and The Don with this first-hand knowledge, he knew his future would be more than comfortable. He knew that he, Gordon Mckeith, would finally get the respect he deserved.
He brought the lorry to a stop at the peak of Dead Man’s Pass, opened the door and climbed out. His passenger thought about calling after him, but then thought better of it. Mckeith gazed over the terrain ahead. Tall pine trees blanketed the mountains, leading down to the lush greenery of the valley floor. A wild river, swollen by the recent rainfall, roared through the otherwise serene landscape. He breathed deeply, allowing the highland air to fill his nicotine-stained lungs. It was beautiful, it was majestic, it was magnificent. But not for long. Soon it would be a wasteland full of fleeing, displaced souls. The villages would be burning, their graveyards robbed of the treasures they once held. And the grace that had presided over this part of Scotland for thousands of years would be gone forever, a mere memory left to rot in hell for eternity. Mckeith smiled. “And they told me I’d never do anything with my life.”
THE END
Acknowledgements
Firstly, I need to thank my beautiful wife Tina. She is the reason this book was written. Many a time I wanted to sit down and relax with a cold beer, but she'd rip the beer out of my hand, push me into my office and not let me out until I'd typed at least two thousand words. So thank you my love. Your words of encouragement... "You can sleep when you're dead!" will never leave me. Love you.
I would also like to thank Annella who once again provided fantastic advice and great insight. Thank you for steering me in the right direction.
Thank you to Alina, a great friend and advisor who has prevented me from making truly monumental mistakes over and over again. We live hundreds of miles apart, but I can still sense when you roll your eyes. Thank you for sticking with me.
And finally... the professionals. Caroline, my fantastic editor, for making the whole process as straightforward and painless as possible... again. And Christian a vibrant and talented cover artist who takes my breath away with his designs.
SAFE HAVEN:
BOOK THREE
COMING SOON
Realm of the Raiders Page 27