by Jenn Lees
Saving Time
Community Chronicles, Volume 3
Jenn Lees
Published by Jenn Lees, 2019.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
SAVING TIME
First edition. May 25, 2019.
Copyright © 2019 Jenn Lees.
ISBN: 978-1386332367
Written by Jenn Lees.
To Graham Frank Fancourt.
17/2/1938-21/6/2016
Thank you, Unc. You know why.
SAVING TIME
JENN LEES
COMMUNITY CHRONICLES
BOOK 3
Saving Time Copyright 2019 Jenn Lees
NOTE. This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
This novel is written in British English.
DEDICATION
To Graham Frank Fancourt.
17/2/1938-21/6/2016
Thank you, Unc. You know why.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 1
North Western Highlands of Scotland, 2061
Sunlight glinted on the sea loch, like diamonds strewn across sapphire-blue velvet. The sun-warmed wind blew across the waters of Loch Ewe, rippling shimmers of light on this summer’s day. Murdo MacDonald squinted against the glare while the wind bristled through his greying beard as he rounded his side of the Isle of Ewe.
His white-washed crofter’s cottage came into view beside him and to the left, on the island that sat in the middle of this wide expanse of sea water. Ahead were the heads of the sea loch and past them the open ocean. Opposite his home, a large, narrow, dark vessel bumped gently against the white-posted pier of the oil depot at Drumchork. The depot, abandoned for years, its store of fuel long since depleted. The submarine filled his sights and Murdo sighed in resignation.
“So, there ye are. I’ve been waiting for ye.”
Cutting the small boat’s motor, he drifted, staying by the shoreline of his island and well away from the submarine.
Watching in silence.
The hatch of the submarine opened. A little at first, then gradually to its fullest extent, clanging open on the metal surface of the submarine. A man in a khaki uniform emerged; his bald head and face were a dark sunburned-red. The submariner continued his journey across the vessel’s hull, scanning his surroundings as he went.
Murdo ducked further into the cabin of his small motorboat. He would avoid any contact. His brother had drilled into him the dangers of exposure to radiation. His eldest brother—oh so many years ago.
Others followed behind the first submariner, their skin a similar red slough. Vomiting and short periods of rest punctuated their slow journeys across the vessel’s deck, onto the pier and then along the old road.
Murdo’s mouth dried.
So, it had begun.
Achnasheen, North Western Scottish Highlands
RORY PULLED HIS STALLION up sharp. It was times like this, after climbing the horses up a mountain, that he gave thanks for his father’s foresight in breeding from Highland Mountain horses. Rory’s stallion panted and snorted, sides white with foam, jangling tack as he tossed his head. Leather saddles creaked beside him, alerting Rory to his team’s arrival of at the summit of Bhienn Fionn.
On top of this Munro, the peaks of lower mountains, those less than three thousand feet, surrounded Rory and his crew. The fresh wind blew the grass flat over grey rock-covered hills and funnelled its way down to Loch Maree, which reflected the bright blue sky and nestled itself between the elevations of the Finnach mountain range. Rory gazed out at this land—his place on this planet—took a breath of the Highland air and smiled to himself.
This was where his soul sang. Whatever went on in the wild world out there, he was content to be here—and nowhere else.
Below him was the old village of Achnasheen and the roads leading into it from the west and east. Loch Finnach was to the north. Rory looked past Loch Maree; far in the distance was Loch Ewe, the sea loch leading out to The Minch, the body of water between the mainland of Scotland and the Isle of Lewis.
Aye. An ideal lookout.
“Wow, it’s so clear we can see for miles.” Kendra sat on her horse beside him, her bow over her shoulder and a quiver full of arrows by her side. Her long, dark hair tied in its usual plait fell over her weapon. She was astute, amiable, and good in a fight. He’d trust her with his back any day.
“Aye. Excellent visual today. It will be here then.” Rory slipped out of the saddle, his father’s long range rifle slung over his shoulder.
The wind caught Rory’s dark red hair and blew it across his face. It was long enough now to tie back. He lifted his saddlebags, easily taking the weight of the supplies in them.
Callum dismounted and followed suit, his Beretta in its holster, and his Buck knife in its sheath hung from his belt. Callum wore clothing made by the community: hand-woven wool cloth shirts and buckskin leather leggings. Everyone did, as manufactured clothing was a thing of the past and a rarity. Rory regarded his identical twin brother’s tightly cropped hair, vivid blue eyes, and tall, muscled frame. They were the same, but not the same. Mandy knew it for certain now.
Things had been strained between himself and Callum, but not for long. A bond such as theirs was hard to disrupt, even with matters of the heart. It was eight months since Rory had returned from the past with the beautiful young woman, hoping to have a relationship with her after rescuing Mandy from the slave-trade.
But no.
The same, but not the same. Mandy had found her love in his twin.
Rory brushed thoughts of Mandy aside and began to focus on the task at hand—setting up a temporary camp to prepare for constructing a permanent strategic outpost. He and George Stobbart, the head of the Militia, had decided to extend their security due to the persistent raids of the many bandit groups that roamed nearby and were now becoming bolder. They would build another closer outpost halfway between here and home, the Invercharing Community.
“So, we collect rocks then?” Xian dismounted his horse, landing without a sound. Bouncing. The agility of this young Chinese man amazed Rory. Xian had taught Rory some Gung-Fu in the twelve months since he’d joined the Community. Rory loved it. Its strict discipline had given him a sense of security and its free-flowing forms in the exercises were relaxing and invigorating at the same time.
Therapeutic even.
He’d needed therapeutic after returning from the past. He often woke in a cold sweat with the vivid memory of his father’s death, as if he were reliving it. Visions of his father holding his mother close, his blood covering them both, whispering into her ear as his life left him.
Don’t go
there now. Focus on the task at hand.
“Aye. We’ll dry stone our fort,” Rory clipped his answer.
“And you know how to do that, don’t you Rory?” Rory’s younger brother, Brendan, stood with his head cocked. Sandy-haired and blue-eyed, he took after their father, Scott.
“Well, we copy what they’ve done along the road there.” Rory gestured to the road below the mountaintop on which they stood. “Should nae be difficult.”
“My dad always said it was an art form,” Kendra said.
“We’ll be artists then.” Rory shook his head. He was a soldier. There were many skills people had to relearn since the stock market crashed just over forty years ago. The ensuing chaos and disruption to twenty-first-century life had removed most modern technology from people’s lives. It had forced them back to basics. Never knowing this technology himself, it always amused Rory when his younger brother Murray, Brendan’s twin, tried to restore the old computers which had originally arrived with the early members of the Community.
The rest of his team dismounted and gathered the grey rocks that lay scattered on the ground at the top of this mountain. They would also use the rocks which formed a cairn left by hill walkers in the past. No one walked hills for pleasure these days.
“Um...” Brendan had the binoculars as it was his turn to be the lookout.
“Um what?” Rory’s head flicked toward him at his tone.
Hesitating, Brendan looked away from the lenses and glanced at Rory. Brendan’s expression sent the chill of a cool mountain breeze to Rory’s guts. Rory dropped the rocks he held, strode over to Brendan and grabbed the high-powered binoculars from his hands.
“Where?” His voice was terse, expecting to see riders—bandits—but there was nothing.
“Directly ahead.” Brendan pointed. Rory followed the line of his arm. A narrow valley ran the other side of Bhienn Fionn. A long loch sat at the base of the mountain opposite and a dilapidated road cut the valley through the middle. Amongst the grass of this undulating glen lay a blob of darker green, vaguely human in form. Immobile.
“Okay. I need a volunteer to ride—" Rory began.
“I’ll go.” Kendra’s voice floated past his ear as she made her way to her horse and slid into the saddle. “I’ll let you know if you need to come.”
“Keep an eye out—"
“For bandits. I know.” Kendra flicked her long black plait over her shoulder.
As Kendra rode down the mountain Rory turned to the task at hand—dry stoning. There shouldn’t be too much of an art form to it. They needed to build a walled lookout soon. Rory shovelled the area they would build in and dug down to bedrock, which wasn’t far. The structure would sit on this solid base. Rory soon discovered rocks have a mind of their own and need to fit together if they are going to stay together. Callum seemed to have the knack. After an hour of his brother’s careful selection and placing of stones, the beginnings of a circular wall had emerged.
“Kendra’s waving.” Brendan lowered the binoculars and held them out to Rory. “She wants us to go there.”
“Right, you stay here, Brendan, and mind our equipment. Keep your weapon handy,” Rory said. “You guys come with me.” Rory directed the order at Callum and Xian. The fact Kendra wanted him meant it was serious. She wasn’t one to be melodramatic.
They picked their way down the steeper side of Bhienn Fionn and then galloped in the direction of Loch Maree where Kendra now waited on her horse. The khaki-clad form lay in the grass nearby.
Rory slipped his leg over the saddle and jumped off his horse.
“No. Don’t go any closer.” Kendra stayed on her horse. “It’s not good.”
“I’m no’ afraid of a dead body, Kendra.” Rory continued toward the inert human.
“No! Rory please, stop.” Kendra’s tone held alarm.
Rory stopped mid-stride. “Why?”
“I’m not sure but I think he died of radiation sickness.”
“What makes you think that?” Rory blinked, trying to concentrate, and not let the implications of this stir up any alarm.
“He’s got no hair. Not even eyebrows or eyelashes.” Kendra pointed to the man’s face. “And his skin is so red. Like really, really, bad sunburn but, well, it’s never that sunny here to cause such sunburn.”
“Why are you standing back?” Callum made to go toward the dead man. “It’s not contagious is it?”
“No! Seriously. Don’t go any closer.” Kendra held up her hand, signalling for Callum to stop. “He’s radioactive. I think. Oh, I wish Chris was here, she would know more—being medical. And I remember your mother talking about it, a long time ago.”
Callum stepped back to Rory, now both were well away from the dead man.
“He’s Asian,” Kendra said.
“Where’s he from?” Rory asked Xian.
“I don’t know.” Xian set his hands on his belt next to his gun holster and his short sword. “Why are you asking me?”
Rory rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, I’m no’ meanin’ to be racist or anything but I’ve never been far out of these Highlands, let alone out o’ Scotland. But you came from a more cosmopolitan place than me, Xian. Can you shed some light on what we’re dealing with here?” Rory peered closer at the body. “Is there a badge on his uniform? It might be a flag of his country. If we had the binoculars, I could—"
“There’s someone up there,” Kendra shouted as she looked at the cairn on the top of Bhienn Fionn.
Rory spun. A group of figures were up on the peak with Brendan. They were moving rapidly, and it wasn’t friendly. Cold clutched Rory’s spine as he strode to his horse and flew into the saddle. He’d left the youngest alone, believing his proximity would be a deterrent to any bandits.
He was wrong.
Callum and Xian had followed suit and they soon kicked their horses to a gallop. They made their way up to the would-be fort but the climb, being steep in places, slowed them down and the top of the Munro was empty by the time they crested the final rise. Weapons and food stores were gone.
No Brendan.
Rory’s heart sank, his mind spinning. He peered down the mountain, over the far side near the cairn. There was nothing.
“They must have gone that way,” Callum voiced Rory’s thoughts. “We would’ve seen them on our way up otherwise.”
“Aye. So down we go.” Without hesitation, Rory kicked his stallion down the steep descent. The bandits had his baby brother and they would not get away with it.
The others followed, stones and dirt flying. Skidding a zig-zag route down the side of the mountain, Rory led them to the forest which edged its base, and halted.
Still no one in sight.
“Ssh. Listen.” Rory pointed to the trees.
The sound of horses within the forest reached them. Here and there a human voice drifted out. The bandits were in the distance but still among the trees.
“Quietly now. They may have a base camp. We’ll sneak up on them. No going in guns blazing. It’s our wee brother in there. The bandits won’t hesitate to shoot back. They have all our spare ammo, after all. Nobody’s to be shot today.” Rory dismounted and tied his horse to the tree at the edge of the forest. The others did the same.
They crept, weapons at the ready, toward the human sounds in the forest ahead. The bandits were amateurs, announcing their presence with whoops and yells.
What? Did they think we wouldn’t follow them?
It disgusted Rory. His stomach churned at the thought of what they might do to Brendan. He quickened his pace.
They were soon within sight of the bandit’s makeshift camp. Rory ducked behind the nearest tree, confident of his team doing the same. He peered around the side of the Scots pine’s orange-brown trunk and counted five men and a woman. The group of desperates had tied Brendan to a sapling near the campfire in the centre of their hide-out.
The bandits were busy sorting the food supplies and ammunition they’d taken from the top of the mountai
n. No one watched the hostage.
Distracted. Now was the time to attack. Rory would make his plan known.
Silent weapons.
Rory turned to Kendra to indicate she use her bow. She’d already notched an arrow.
Xian had his throwing knives in his hands and his sword at his side ready as always. And the man himself was a silent weapon.
Lethal. Deadly.
Rory unsheathed his Buck knife and placed the British Army standard long range rifle on the ground next to him. He was more comfortable as a sniper and might get some shots off before anyone noticed. Callum held his Beretta and would wait till Rory gave the signal to shoot.
Xian indicated he would go forward and start the rescue.
Rory nodded.
Xian, silent as a cat and just as graceful, slipped his way through the trees to stand near the group whooping their delight over their bounty. Xian’s wrists flicked, and corresponding expressions of shock appeared on the faces of those bandits now pierced by his knives. One to the ribs of a man, and one to the shoulder of the woman.
The others scattered, grabbing for guns and knives in their retreat to their mounts. Whinnies of horses and the cracking of broken branches punctuated their flight as they rushed out of the forest.
With the bandits’ attention now away from his brother, Rory snuck around the other side of the camp to Brendan near the campfire. Brendan opened his mouth to speak. Rory put a finger to his lips to shush him. He would attract any bandits not occupied by Xian. Rory reached forward with his hunting knife to cut Brendan’s bonds. Behind him came the sound of footsteps. Rory’s hackles rose.
Rory turned to meet a fist on its way to his belly. He tightened his core, absorbing the blow. He regained his balance as his focus sharpened. Heart thudding. Rory lunged with his knife at his assailant’s abdomen. The man’s forearm blocked Rory’s thrust, bone on bone. Grating. The man grabbed Rory’s wrist to disarm him of his hunting knife. Rory kicked out between the man’s legs and to the side. His opponent now balanced precariously on one leg. An easy knock over. The bandit crashed to the ground. Flat on his back. Continuing the forward motion Rory landed with a knee on the man’s chest. With a thump, it forced the wind out of the bandit.