Saving Time

by Jenn Lees

  “The dead man has nothing to do with the cloud,” Antony spoke into her ear before he turned to the technician. “How many are there?”

  “In total about ten, sir. They start at Loch Ewe, and this last one appears to be somewhere near Bhienn Fionn in Achnasheen in the northern Highlands, sir.”

  “The man is Asian? Chinese?” Siobhan peered closer. “Am I correct?”

  Antony nodded. “Think so. We suspect rogue state involvement.”

  The footage changed as the drone moved on. Siobhan’s pulse raced at the view of this freshwater loch and the rugged hills surrounding it. The wind rippled across the loch as birds flew off the water and red deer drank at its edge. Its peace and calm filled Siobhan with a yearning to be there, to touch the cool water. Maybe go for a swim. Then she recalled she couldn’t actually swim. The footage sped up, blurring the idyllic view and disrupting her daydream.

  “Here’s something else I need to show you, sir.” The technician fast-forwarded to a view of a forest. The drone focused on a group of people coming out of the treeline. They all rode horses, both men and women carried weapons, and two men had bodies over their saddles in front of them. They looked up. One man grabbed the large gun slung over his shoulder. His mouth moved as he spoke and aimed at the drone. The young man’s face was a scowl. The ground became smaller in the footage as the drone ascended and the man continued to aim the gun. The man’s shoulder kicked slightly, and the screen blurred white noise.

  “What! That rebel has destroyed government property.” Antony shook his head in disgust. “It just shows how stupid they are. And the PM thinks we can negotiate with these anarchists and form an alliance when we surface?” Antony’s political aspirations came to the fore—again. “How, I ask you?”

  No one answered. Having spent many years watching the life of those up top, Siobhan had seen it all. The drones showed people in every situation. Not as often of late, as the drones had become irreparable, or had been destroyed. She witnessed the devastation in the cities and the poor state of most people there. But recently she had realised the groups that lived in communities outside of the major cities had a simple and harmonious life. They had gone back to basics and survived; relearned old skills, left the reliance on technology and lived closer to the land. They depended on and supported each other. They even seemed happy. Sure, they were the original Doomsday Preppers, but they had survived, and their lives were fruitful and content. Yet they had to defend themselves. It wasn’t all good out there.

  Siobhan had dared to question the truths her teachers had espoused. They had taught her and the other children of the Brains Trust, that those up top were barbarian, and they, the children of those especially chosen by the Government, were the elite who would put the world right when it was time to go up top again, permanently.

  But surely not everyone up top was bad?

  Siobhan once spoke her thoughts to Antony when they were together, but he shouted her down. Now she dare not speak of her doubts to anyone. She stood silent for a moment, refusing to answer Antony’s question. Perhaps he meant it rhetorically. Dampness built up on her palms.

  “So, what about the burned man?” Siobhan crossed her arms over her chest, hiding her sweaty palms. “Are they radiation burns?”

  Let’s get back to the point. “Does it mean we’ve a nuclear incident here in Scotland? One of our reactors?”

  “No,” Antony said to Siobhan. “Rewind, please.” Antony ordered the technician.

  The screen flew back to the footage prior to that showing when Siobhan arrived in the audio-visual room. A white pier jutted out into what looked like a bay and beside it docked a surfaced submarine.

  “Where’s this?” Siobhan looked past the submarine to the gently lapping waters and the hills surrounding it.

  What a shame. Such a beautiful place.

  “It’s Loch Ewe, a deep-sea loch suitable for deep water anchorage. That’s how the sub came in from the North Atlantic Ocean.” The technician turned to face Siobhan as a broad smile crossed his face. “It was a secret base for the military during the Second World War. You can still see the remains of the turrets which housed the heavy munitions.”

  “We’ve got to check it out,” Antony said, smothering the technician’s excitement. “Make sure it’s not got a nuke waiting to detonate, or its nuclear power source isn’t leaking. Something has irradiated those submariners. Where’s the nearest settlement?”

  “There’s a tiny community at Loch Ewe.” The technician grabbed a folded Ordnance Survey map from the shelf above the screen, opened it and peered closely at it. “But you would have to pass near the bigger, but more secluded, community at Invercharing. You may as well stop there as they know the area better than we do. Sir, if you don’t mind me suggesting it, you may need their assistance.”

  Antony stared at the map, his expression tight, lips a thin line.

  Siobhan shivered, but she had to ask it, despite Antony’s sure recriminations.

  “What’s wrong with that, Antony? It sounds like a very good suggestion.” Siobhan waited as silent moments passed. “Well?”

  “Caitlin Murray-Campbell set up the Invercharing Community. Ms Murray-Campbell virtually started the Community movement. She ran Invercharing with her husband, Scott Campbell, a legend of a man. She passed away about five or six years ago and he disappeared into nowhere. Now her children help run it. The oldest son is the spit of his father, or so they say.”

  “Well then, they’ll be the best place to start.” She held back the tremor in her voice. “Sounds like they’ll be a good help.”

  “Help? You really think so?”

  “Don’t be so biased. You haven’t even met them yet.” Siobhan’s hands came down to her sides, balling into fists. She drew deep and brought up courage to face another shouting down from Antony. “They are a resource we should tap into. After all, it affects them too”. She narrowed her eyes at Antony. “I’m coming with you.”

  Antony stared her down, breathing hard. She’d backed off once before when revealing her beliefs on community people and their lifestyle, but not now.

  “I am the nuclear physicist and head of Nuclear Surveillance. I’ll go to stores and organise the gear we’ll need.” Siobhan stepped out of the audio-visual room before Antony had a chance to reply. She wouldn’t miss this opportunity of going up top.

  Not for anything.

  Chapter 3

  Government Bunker

  It was getting easier to bribe the guards at the lift. Bribe them into letting him up top in the first place, and now to keep silent about his regular forays.

  The tall metallic doors loomed before him. He walked toward the lifts as soundlessly as he was able on the polished concrete floors in the silent Bunker. Most of its inhabitants were ‘early to bed, early to rise’.

  This Government Bunker still had plentiful supplies of luxury goods. People liked to feel special or surprise their loved ones. Having access to the stock kept deep in the stores, and even the archives, came in handy. It surprised him, sometimes, what people wanted. Jewellery and other valuables, small trinkets, old wines and scotch, perfume for both men and women. The corner of his mouth twisted in a smile.

  Human nature, so predictable.

  He slipped the small ball of very old, and possibly stale, marijuana resin into the upturned hand of the guard on the night shift in front of the lifts.

  “Thank you, Major McLellan,” the guard whispered.

  The journey up was a quiet one. He’d read in the archives they used to have music playing in lifts. Antony hummed to himself, returning to his thoughts.

  In the Bunker, it was all altruistic. Everyone lived for the good of humankind. For the good of Scotland. But in the end, personal greed won.

  Mostly.

  Now, he was all for Scotland. Pro the Scottish Government taking back its rightful position and ruling the people once more. He wanted to be part of it, for sure.

  Power.

  Another
thing that made human nature predictable. There are those who have it thrust upon them and want it. Those who have it thrust upon them and don’t want it. Those who work for it and get it. And those who would only get a look-in if they fought tooth and nail.

  At present, he was the tooth-and-nail guy.

  To get a look-in you had to impress. And impressing those who are the watchers in the Government Bunker—those who see the rising stars—wasn’t an easy task. He’d tried. And, according to the watchers, he was second best to everyone else.

  Not as gifted. Not as perceptive. Not a people person.

  Well, do you want someone nice, or do you want someone who can do the job? What do they know anyway? They haven’t governed for nearly four decades. Really governed. Those plebs out there, who don’t know their arse from their elbow, wouldn’t know what was good for them if it jumped up and bit their balls!

  He had to do something grand. Proved right. Prove another wrong.

  Strange how you can sleep with the enemy and never suspect a thing. Well, he’d suspected it. As soon as Siobhan had outgrown her usefulness, he’d extricated himself from her. Broken off their relationship once she’d shown her hand. All the drone-footage-watching had turned her mind.

  And she actually thought the Community plebs were the good guys?

  Antony stifled a laugh; his shoulders quivered in silent amusement. Then the corners of his mouth tightened in a snarl. It was good to express what he really felt, for once. He was the only one in this lift, and he’d ensured the footage from the little camera in the corner was on a loop.

  A loop of a very empty lift going nowhere.

  Chapter 4

  Invercharing Community

  She lay face down on the crumpled bedclothes, her slender, naked back hiding nothing of her female curves.

  Rory kneels on the bed behind her and lays his body on top of hers, their bare skin touching. Her soft warmth contacts the entire length of his body, his firmness hard along her buttock.

  She stirs and turns her head to the side.

  Running his nose along her right shoulder and up into her fair hair, he inhales her scent.

  What was it?

  Flowers, he guesses. But what flowers?

  He only knows the scent of thistle and heather.

  They wouldn’t make perfume out of those.

  He pulls her hair away from the side of her face with his left hand, the gold band on his ring finger glints softly in the moonlight from the window.

  She sighs.

  He presses his lips to the side of her neck and traces her hairline toward the base of her skull.

  He leans forward and grabs her earlobe gently between his teeth, avoiding the diamond stud earring she wears.

  He gives a breathy laugh as she wriggles beneath him.

  “What, again?” Her voice husky with sleep.

  “Uh, huh.” He presses his lips to her neck and tastes her fair complexion.

  She opens her legs beneath him, and he thrusts himself in.

  Rory woke; the sheet tight and damp around his manhood. He disengaged himself from his bed covers, walked to the bathroom, and washed.

  He walked naked to the kitchen and opened the laminate cupboard door. From behind the preserves he brought out the bottle of single malt whisky and poured a dram into the glass he kept on the bench. It was more than a dram, but he needed it.

  That was no wet dream. It was real.

  So real he could still smell her perfume, feel her smooth skin, sense her tightening around him.

  He sculled the scotch in one hit, its warmth burning his throat and vaporising up into his nostrils. The lingering creaminess from the hint of sherry cask was comforting as the liquid’s warmth filled his belly.

  Rory slammed the glass on the tiled bench; the crack reverberated throughout the empty house. It was once the family home, but now only he lived here since his mother’s death and his father’s permanent return to the past.

  “Who was she?” His voice was loud in the room.

  The quiet answered.

  He’d never experienced it before. Not just the physical connection, nor the overwhelming, all-consuming sense of her...

  Was it love?

  Shaking his head, he poured another generous dram and drank, then walked to the bedroom. Maybe sleep would come.

  “SO, WHY AM I NOT GOING?” Brendan led his saddled horse as he walked toward Rory.

  “It may be dangerous.” Rory’s gaze flicked around the stable where the rest of his crew were mounting up.

  “I’ll stay out of trouble, I promise.” Brendan now stood directly in front of Rory, his eager expression right in Rory’s face.

  Rory sighed and slowly shook his head. He recognised the emotion within himself—resignation.

  “When we get to Loch Ewe, no before we get there, you will stay back somewhere safe.” His younger brother required the experience, and Rory wasn’t sure of what he would find there, but he needed the manpower. He only had to keep him out of harm’s way. Wherever that was.

  The beaming smile from his wee brother brought a reluctant curve to his own lips.

  Rory and his team trotted their horses through the misty rain. They set out toward Bhienn Fionn, wearing wet weather gear. The rain so opposite to yesterday’s sun. Mist shrouded the purple heather-covered mountains to either side, and water ran in rivulets along the ground beneath them. The cool wind blew the scent of horse and forest past his nostrils. They had a two-day journey ahead, with an overnight camp.

  Rory had no idea if they would cross bandit country or not, but he’d made sure his crew came well armed. Callum cantered his horse to catch up with him.

  “Are we going over Bhienn Fionn?” Callum asked.

  “No. I’m planning to avoid the well-known paths.” Rory shook his head. “Might be safer that way. We’ll make as much of a beeline as we can over the lower hills. The plan is to camp beside Loch Maree tonight, somewhere near Taagan.”

  They rode through the pass at Achnasheen which led them beneath Bhienn Fionn. Their grassy path took them across undulating heather and bracken fern-covered glens, wind-blown and treeless for miles. The rain came over with the gusts of wind and made for a patchy on-off rainy day.

  By late afternoon, their path ran beside a brisk flowing grey-pebbled burn which wound its way to the remains of the old road for a short distance before making its way to Loch Maree. Rory became increasingly aware of the triple buttresses of Bhienn Eighe to his left. Its massive presence glowered at them from its heights across the shore of the loch. Clouds of its own making topped its Cambrian quartzite, grey and intimidating. The white, grey and black colouring of the clouds, ever-roiling and changing within themselves, added to the menacing aura surrounding the mountain.

  “Lord of the Rings,” Callum spoke beside him.

  “Aye. Mount Doom.” Rory nodded, his mouth open, recalling their mother’s choice of bedtime reading material. She’d believed in the classics. “Here’s hoping our mission is nae as difficult.”

  Rory led his team across the small delta of Kinlochewe River as it emptied into Loch Maree and headed toward the forest on their right to make their camp in its shelter. So far, they sighted no bandits. Night time would tell.

  They set up camp, lit a fire and over it they cooked bannock dough wrapped around a stick.

  “I’ll take first watch.” Rory picked up his Glock, slung his rifle over his shoulder and pointed to the trees about fifteen metres away. “I’ll come wake you in four hours,” he said to his twin.

  Callum nodded.

  “Everyone else get some rest. With one ear open, aye?” Rory ordered as he walked out of their camp.

  “Yes, boss.” Kendra saluted, then smiled.

  She meant it in a friendly way with no disrespect for him. His crew admired him, but at times Rory wondered why. This could be a dangerous mission. He shivered, and not from the cool night air. They travelled to an unseen danger. He recalled his mother speaking of radia
tion from atomic bombs dropped on Japan, which had caused cancer years later in the survivors. It was the Second World War, if he remembered correctly. A war in a world so different from now.

  Had they ever dropped the later bombs of the nuclear kind, nukes, Murray called them, anywhere else? The Community still listened intently to the CB radio chatter, but they only heard a little of what went on in the world out there. He wished he knew more, and they had some protective gear like he’d seen in pictures in the Encyclopaedia Britannica in the Community’s library.

  What was he risking? What danger was he exposing his crew to? But if they didn’t help, there may be a nuke out there, and someone had to deal with it. Unchecked, it could mean annihilation.

  What choice did he have?

  A crashing through the trees brought his walk to his night watch post to a halt. He stood stock-still. The odour of male red deer assailed his nostrils—like stale cat piss mixed with dead animal. They urinate on themselves to make their personal scent stronger.

  Aye, a stag.

  It stomped beside him.

  Rory turned slowly. A fourteen-pointer stood not five metres from him amongst the trees. Red-brown fur covered rippling muscle; hard as bone solid antler branches arose high above a noble head. Rory daren’t move. It was rutting season, and those tines were sharp.

  The old male honked and stomped again. That was two warnings he’d given in a matter of moments. Rory didn’t move an inch. If Rory was lucky, the stag would sense he wouldn’t harm him, if only Rory stood still. He prayed the others hadn’t noticed and wouldn’t startle the stag and cause him to charge.

  There were more animal noises behind the stag. His harem of does. That’s why he was so aggressive.

  The large male animal honked once more. At the same time a raucous of noise erupted from the camp. A handgun fired, and horses shrieked. Rory flinched as his heart continued rocking in his chest. The stag raised his head and sniffed the air. Then, backtracking away from Rory, he turned and honked at his females behind him, causing a stampede of deer to crash through the forest away from the camp.