Saving Time

by Jenn Lees

  In the heat of the moment, a surreal calm surrounded Rory. He’d never been so close to a bandit, nor at the point of decision in which he now found himself.

  Should he kill him?

  In his mind’s eye, the Chief Council members line up in a row and face this same man he holds on the ground beneath his knee.

  They look at the bandit, expressions stern.

  One speaks.

  “...for the crimes of kidnap and robbery we sentence you...”

  The vision and flash of calm faded as thudding returned to Rory’s temples. The man struggled. Rory punched hard onto the man’s mouth. Teeth ground onto lips. Rory’s knuckles flashed a sharp pain into his right hand. The man’s eyes closed as he lost consciousness.

  Rory took a long pull of air. Fights were over in a second, but the adrenalin hung around a while longer. He held his hunting knife with a trembling hand.

  On the other side of the camp, Xian spun and rose in the air as the side of his foot connected with the temple of a man twice his height. The man crashed to the ground. All the other bandits had fled except for the woman with one of Xian’s throwing knives in her shoulder. She sat on the ground, wailing.

  Callum and Kendra emerged from the trees and walked toward him as he cut Brendan’s bonds.

  “Everyone okay?” Rory directed his question to each member of his crew.

  “Didn’t fire a shot,” Callum answered first.

  “I loosed an arrow or two. Better go find them.” Kendra slumped away.

  “Just check those amateurs are no’ coming back,” Rory ordered.

  Over the other side of the camp, the woman’s wails continued as Xian squatted by her.

  “You okay, Xian?”

  “Pardon?” Xian cupped a hand behind his ear. “I can’t hear you over the noise.” He’d tied the woman’s arms behind her back, causing an increase in her volume.

  “You bastards will pay for this!” she said through her wails.

  “No, you and your friends will pay for this.” Rory made his way over to Xian after using Brendan’s cut bonds to tie up the man he’d rendered unconscious. The man with the knife in his ribs lay sprawled near Xian.

  Dead.

  Rory tossed the other bonds to Xian, who tied the hands of the man he’d knocked out.

  “We better take these back to the Community. All our equipment’s gone from the cairn, so we’ll take all of this with us.” Rory pointed to the goods strewn around the bandit’s campsite. “And get you and your friends some medical attention,” he said to the woman who held her shoulder in silence.

  Kendra removed the knife from the woman’s shoulder and applied a pressure bandage. The woman’s gasp followed by her scream assaulted Rory’s ears.

  “Just in case she has any guts about her,” Kendra said as she pushed the semi-conscious woman up and onto the saddle where she would ride behind her. “And decides she’ll stab someone with the knife on the way home.”

  Rory suppressed a smile.

  That’s what you’d do, Kendra.

  The unconscious man was coming around. Rory had placed him belly-down across his saddle—not a comfortable position. Rory could muster no compassion. The bandit had taken his wee brother hostage and stolen their gear; he didn’t deserve comfortable.

  Rory mounted behind his captive and walked his horse out of the screen of the forest as a quiet buzz in the sky came closer.

  “Blast those bloody drones. Have we no’ had enough o’ them? The Government is nosey enough to bother us with these, but not to come and see us themselves!” Rory slipped his long range rifle from over his shoulder and rested its butt against his right shoulder, holding its weight with his left hand. Not that steady, but it would do. He took a breath and aimed, let the air out slowly, and squeezed the trigger. The drone exploded, and its pieces showered to the ground.

  THE HIGH GATES OF THE Invercharing Community came into view. A fence surrounded the Community Compound’s buildings, greenhouses, and vegetable gardens. The high mountains that skirted the valley were grass-green dotted with a patchwork of brown bracken fern and heather coming into purple flower. The wider end of this otherwise narrow glen in between two mountain ranges provided broad meadows for crops and grazing. Sheep roamed the hills, cattle sat on the vivid green grass chewing cud, and horses wandered and frolicked in fenced areas near the main buildings. On the closer hills, windmills spun lazily, generating the power that supplied their compound’s frugal requirements. Beside each windmill farm, the usual sentinel stood watch, guarding the precious power source. The Community wasted nothing, utilising every resource to the furthest degree. In his saddlebags, Rory had the empty shells they’d found in the bandit’s camp. The younger members of the Militia would aim to make more bullets from the less damaged ones.

  “If the guard in the watchtower has done his duty and reported to the medical team we’re arriving with injured,” Rory said to Callum riding beside him. “There’s goin’ tae be a stir in the medical centre.”

  “Aye, and we’re a wee bit early. The other crews will still be out settin’ up the outposts.” Callum pulled his horse to a halt.

  Christine rushed out the front gate, her light-blonde hair tied back and her expression full of concern. On seeing Kendra riding in unharmed, her shoulders relaxed, and a smile brightened her usually stern face. She approached the injured man Rory had helped to dismount his horse. Christine’s natural ability with medical things amazed Rory. His mother, Caitlin, had taught Christine herself, and though Christine had never attended a medical school, because there weren’t any, she was a doctor—no doubt about it.

  A guard helped Christine take the injured into the medical centre, past the main building and off the track which led to the newer accommodation blocks, and on to the stables and animal shelter area at the back of the compound. The main farmhouse was now a Chief Council meeting room and accommodation. Newer accommodation blocks sat beside the old barns converted into multipurpose areas. On this late afternoon, other members of the Militia were practicing hand-to-hand combat in the larger hall.

  Sheds echoed with the clack clunk of a loom weaving cloth; young girls sat outside in the sun spinning the yarn. Next to them, chatting happily as they squelched their bare feet in the sludge-wet used paper, two boys on paper-making duty held on to the edge of the wooden barrel as they prepared the pulp which they would pour into frames and dry in the sun.

  Rory walked his horse beside Callum as they both headed toward the stables and smithy’s forge. As they passed an animal shelter where a young lad mixed a pile of sheep dung and horse manure into the compost heaps, the definite scent of farmyard permeated the air.

  Brendan approached Rory and Callum.

  “Thanks.” Brendan looked up at them both.

  A pang of warmth shot through Rory at the sight of his younger brother.

  “No, Brendan. I’m sorry for putting you in danger.” Rory grabbed him and pressed him tight against himself, the young man’s soft light-brown hair tickled his face.

  “It’s okay. You didn’t know. Besides, you rescued me.” Brendan’s voice muffled into Rory’s shirt.

  “Aye well, that’s my job. Now Dad’s not here.”

  The sound of running footsteps came toward them. Mandy headed for Callum; she was slim and beautiful, and her long wavy hair flew out behind her. Once beside Rory, Mandy embraced his twin, her pregnant belly protruding to show its six months’ size.

  Rory held back an ache now in the centre of his chest. He was happy for his brother, truly. But it still hurt. He might’ve had love with this tall, attractive young woman.

  Rory disengaged his hug from Brendan and walked on, letting out a deep but quiet sigh. He’d compensated by throwing himself into his role in the Militia. Love didn’t seem to work out for him. His parents had had a wonderful love, but he’d rarely seen anything like it anywhere else. No, that was a one-off. And maybe love wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

  They continued
walking their horses to the stables. As they passed the mess hall, the aroma of chicken casserole hit Rory’s nostrils and his stomach grumbled. Christine ran from behind Rory, passing him to approach Kendra, who walked her horse in front of him. She wrapped her arms around Kendra in a tight embrace, their lips meeting briefly. The women grinned at each other, then Christine scurried back inside to the medical centre. Rory swallowed and kept walking.

  Aye, everyone had someone.

  Except for him.

  Sure, there were plenty of women in the Community. Nice women. But he didn’t have a chemistry with anyone. And he wouldn’t be with just anyone. His nostrils flared.

  Stuff it.

  Rory had had enough of wondering. He’d just forget about holding out any hope there would be love in his life. He was a soldier like his father. And sometimes, like his father, soldiers had a short life.

  “What have you brought home, Rory?” George Stobbart, his mentor and friend, stepped next to him. George’s lined face wore a furrowed brow below grey hair, but his shoulders remained sturdy, reflecting a life of military service, first in the British Marines, then as the leader of the Community’s Militia.

  “Aye, well. I thought justice should rule the day. Let the Chief Council deal with them. They’re a group of amateurs, desperates. Maybe they just need a chance,” Rory answered.

  “Hmm. There’s a thought now. Well, here’s another. I’ve just heard on the citizen band radio from the small Community in Loch Ewe. There is a submarine sitting by their pier and it seems to be in some difficulty. They want us to go help.” George looked pointedly at Rory.

  “You mean, you want me to go help.”

  George squinted as he eyed Rory over his glasses. “Aye, son. You’re the only one I can trust. It is a submarine after all. Could be extremely dangerous.”

  “We found a dead man.” Rory ran his tongue over his lower teeth. “Kendra thinks he died of radiation sickness. I need to speak to Christine when she’s done with the prisoners. Connected do you think? Submarines are nuclear-powered, aren’t they?”

  “Some are,” George tilted his head. “Was he military? Wearing a submariner’s uniform? Where’s the body?”

  “Och, we left it there. Got distracted.” Rory pointed to his younger brother Brendan now joined by his twin, Murray.

  Rory smiled at how different these twin brothers were. Brendan was outdoorsy, like himself. And Murray...well, Murray was a nerd. A brilliant nerd. The Time Machine could not have happened without his mathematical genius, but he’d never tell him that. Murray had been his co-conspirator in their efforts to protect their father, and consequently their mother, in the past. He sighed; still not sure how successful it had been. They hadn’t disrupted the future, the now present, but his father, Scott, had died in their successful attempt at saving his mother and his younger sister Kelly, from slavers. Rory released a long slow breath.

  “You all right, son?” George’s expression held concern.

  “Aye, I’m fine.” Rory shook himself out of his reverie. “Been a long day, ‘tis all.”

  “So tomorrow you’ll take a team and make your way to Loch Ewe?”

  “Aye.” Rory brightened. “Lovely weather for the beach.”

  Chapter 2

  The Scottish Government Bunker, Edinburgh

  Siobhan strode along the long white LED-lit corridor, her high heels clicked on the polished concrete floor. Her steps formed a beat, the beat brought a tune to mind, and she began to sing to herself. In the Bunker, they stored music digitally, as CDs had deteriorated years ago. They also listened to live music, played by the musically talented among them, but Siobhan loved the sound of the vinyl records she’d found in the archives—music from the nineteen sixties was her favourite.

  Siobhan’s computer was playing up again, so she’d decided a break was in order. She didn’t mind pen and paper, but it never ceased to amaze her how the IT guys kept those archaic machines functioning.

  “I’m going for a walk.” Siobhan glanced at the uniformed guard who stood at the end of the corridor in front of the lift. He was so pale, he needed to go up top more often.

  “Sorry, Ms Kensington-Wallace. No rides to the top today.” The guard barred the way to the lift.

  Siobhan stopped in front of him, eyebrows raised in query. “Who says?”

  “Major McLellan, ma’am.” The guard continued his stance in front of the lift.

  Unusual. What’s behind this?

  It was her custom to go to the surface for fresh air and sunlight often. As one of the higher-ranking inhabitants of the Scottish Government Bunker, Siobhan had special privileges and she made use of this one as often as she was able.

  “Very well, then. Can you tell me where Major McLellan is, please?”

  “Possibly in the audio-visual room, ma’am.”

  Siobhan spun on her heel. She’d get to the bottom of this. The rabble up top had been quiet lately. Can’t be due to them.

  Click clack. Motown music floated through her mind again. Singing about not being able to hurry love. Well, she’d been waiting for love—real love—and it definitely was not in any hurry.

  Siobhan would find out why they’d banned going up to the surface. She’d wheedle it out of Antony. She was still good at that. Antony seemed to not be able to deny her information. She wondered if he felt guilty over their break-up even though it was two years ago.

  You’d think he would be over it by now.

  He’d treated her like a trophy in the end; like her good looks and brains and the status she brought were her only importance to him. It had been the death knell. Sure, she missed the sex.

  Really missed the sex.

  But she couldn’t live with herself if she continued with that man. He was such a prat, and so biased. Her brisk steps continued their beat down the corridor.

  Siobhan stopped at the mirror at the top of the corridor where the offices were situated, and tightened her French twist, the usual style for her honey-blonde hair. Hmm. She was glad of her hair tone—hid the grey. Siobhan allowed herself a slight smile of satisfaction. She did look good for forty-seven. She barely had any wrinkles. Living a sheltered life—literally—growing up underground had protected her skin from the aging effects of all year-round weather conditions.

  Smoothing her skirt, she entered the audio-visual room where they viewed and stored footage from the drones, shelves and shelves of it. A room very familiar to her. Siobhan came here often, spending hours of her life watching the world up top. A teacher in her high school years had first shown her the room and how to use the equipment and ensured she had permission to go there whenever she wished. Mrs Smith had passed away, as had most of the original Brains Trust seconded by the Scottish Government and sent underground to this bunker when it became clear the world was not recovering from The Stock Market Crash over forty years ago. Her father had been one of them. Siobhan swallowed the lump in her throat. He had passed two years ago, but it still hurt.

  “Siobhan, you okay?” Antony turned from the computer screen as she entered the audio-visual room, his brown eyes momentarily bored into hers. Antony’s medium height frame was, as usual, clothed in his Scottish Defence Force uniform. He wore his black hair short, also in keeping with uniform. He returned to the screen, not allowing any time for her to answer.

  Siobhan sighed as she followed his gaze to the screen. The visual from the drone showed a mountainous scene, then focused below on the grassy ground. It hovered over a human form.

  “Is he dead?” She spoke over Antony’s shoulder to the technician who sat in front of the computer.

  “Yes, but that’s not unusual out there,” Antony answered for the technician. He was good at it. “The ferals have a short life fending for themselves. They die of disease if they don’t kill each other first.” His cultured voice, loud in the small room, held his obvious disdain. “But this one is discoloured.”

  “Discoloured. What do you mean?” Siobhan stepped closer for a bet
ter view of the screen. “He’s bald...?”

  “No. He’s...injured.”

  “Burnt?”

  Antony turned and flicked a glance at her before walking to the door and closing it.

  “Siobhan...” He chewed his lower lip as he walked back to her.

  “What?” She raised her eyebrows and her hand went to her hip. She hated it when he left her out.

  Antony pursed his lips. “There has been some nuclear activity.”

  “Explain.” Siobhan was curt, but she wanted the truth.

  “Our cousins over the pond, as they say, have alerted us to a nuclear explosion on their turf.”

  Siobhan’s heart rocked in her chest as a shiver made its way down her spine. They had waited years for this, hoping and praying the nuclear warheads around the world would stay dormant and unused. One or two had been detonated in the past forty years, but none close, and none at home in the UK. But it was just a matter of time. The government monitored their nuclear warheads and nuclear reactors closely and as many foreign ones they could. Siobhan, having inherited the role of nuclear physicist from her father, kept an eye on this intelligence as head of Nuclear Surveillance.

  “And you have known this for how long?” She held back from yelling her question at Antony. Heat rose on the back of her neck with the realisation he would keep this vital information from her.

  “We have detected a fallout cloud from a nuclear device detonated over the southern part of the United States, now dispersing and creeping its way northeast.” Antony said. “Our meteorologists are tracking its present course and extrapolating to see if we are in the path.”

  “What has this dead man got to do with it?” Siobhan moved closer to the monitor to get a better view. “Where is this?”

  The footage continued and now the drone hovered over another body lying face up in the long grass.